


Around the World in 80 Cakes

by cookie_full_of_arsenic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Aces eating cake, Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is sex-positive in his own weird way, Getting Together, Literally there is so much sugar in this fic, M/M, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Queerplatonic Relationships, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 80
Words: 18,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23268070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookie_full_of_arsenic/pseuds/cookie_full_of_arsenic
Summary: This is a queerplatonic love story between Aziraphale and Crowley. Or possibly between Aziraphale and cake. There will be recipes because I'm extra.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 127
Kudos: 96





	1. Seedcake

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it looks like the world is ending again so here is some sugary fluff to take your mind off it. This fic will chart the relationship between my favourite queerplatonic cuties, and each chapter will have a cake theme (I'm not sure if I'll be able to think of 80 different cakes but I'll have a damn good try). Some chapters will be tiny, bite-size fics and others will be much more substantial. I hope you enjoy!

Crawly had watched in fascination as the angel made the cake, and now he was watching in fascination as he ate it.

It was a small, simple thing, made from seeds stuck together with honey, and baked in the sunshine. The angel nibbled at it, obviously wanting to make it last. His face radiated pleasure.

Crawly was intrigued. Angels were not known for their imagination, but this overgrown cherub had made something entirely new. And entirely for his own benefit, which Crawly thoroughly approved of.


	2. Savillum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Savillum is a kind of ancient Roman cheesecake. Here's a recipe if you fancy tasting it: http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/10255/savillum--ancient-roman-cheesecake-.aspx

Crowley was not impressed by oysters. Even when well-seasoned, they had the consistency of phlegm. The cake that he and Aziraphale ate afterwards – now, that was another story. It had a _bright_ sort of flavour, like summer. Refreshing and drowsy at the same time.

Or perhaps that was the angel’s company. He felt surprisingly relaxed around him, but alert at the same time. Keen to hear what he had to say next. Eager to make him laugh. It was new. It was interesting.


	3. Oatcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a pretty authentic recipe for Medieval-style oatcakes: http://www.godecookery.com/friends/frec02.htm   
> If anyone knows what ale barm is, let me know!

A century-long nap meant a hundred years’ worth of dreams, so it was hardly surprising that he dreamt about Aziraphale once or twice.

The angel was sitting straight-backed on his bed, munching on an oatcake.

“You’ll get crumbs everywhere!” Crowley whined.

“Oh. Frightfully sorry,” said Dream Aziraphale, but continued eating regardless of how frightfully sorry he was. When he’d finished the last morsel of oatcake, he licked his fingers clean with catlike delicacy, and said “You will visit me after you wake up, won’t you?”

The dream faded before Crowley could answer.


	4. Panettone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panettone is a sweet Italian bread, full of fruit and traditionally eaten at Christmas: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/panettone
> 
> Aziraphale POV coming soon, plus longer chapters. Consider these an appetiser!

Leo wasn’t much of a cook, but he had some panettone left over from Christmas and some pretty decent wine. Anyway, you didn’t visit Da Vinci for the food. You visited for the conversation, and for the chance that he would show you something fascinating, like a new painting he was working on, or an expertly dissected corpse. Today it was corpses.

After an afternoon of entertaining chitchat over the carcass of an unfortunate young lady with an unusual spinal disfigurement, Leo was in good spirits.

“We must do this again soon, Anthony! You should bring your friend, too.”

“Which friend?

“The angel.”

“I’d hardly call him a friend. A casual acquaintance, maybe.”

“You talk about him a great deal for a casual acquaintance.”

“Yeah, well, okay, but he’s not a _friend_. It’s complicated. Technically he’s an enemy. I mean, I like him, but you can’t be friends and enemies at the same time.”

Leo shook his head and sighed, as Crowley carried on muttering away to himself.

“Friend-enemies… frenemies… stupid idea.”


	5. Bannocks and Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have Scottish ancestry (or if you're an Outlander fan) you might be familiar with bannocks. Enjoy with clotted cream, honey, jam or whisky! https://www.scotchandscones.com/scottish-bannocks/

“Was that really necessary?” Aziraphale asked, feeling very disgruntled.

Crowley offered a hand and helped the angel up the ladder and out of the dark, dusty cellar. His visitors (an unsavoury bunch – definitely Crowley’s sort of people) were gone, and the angel was safe. “It wouldn’t be necessary if you weren’t so obviously English. Just learn a Scots accent and you can potter around the Highlands all you want.”

“I’ve tried, but any accent other than English seems to elude me.”

Crowley sighed and brushed dust off the arm of Aziraphale’s coat. “Oh well, at least English suits you. Come on, let’s have something to eat.”

There were bannocks and cream to eat, and whisky to drink. There was good conversation, and even a couple of songs when the whisky made its presence felt.

The Arrangement necessitated a fair amount of secrecy and stress, but it was worth it for the time saved. And perhaps for the time spent with Crowley, who was really rather charming for an agent of darkness.


	6. Madeira Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember eating Madeira cake as a kid and being afraid it would taste like Madeira (a vile-tasting fortified wine). But it actually contains no Madeira and tastes faintly of lemons and almonds. Here's a recipe: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/madeira-loaf-cake

Aziraphale had invited Crowley, of course, but he’d said that it would take more than the Thames freezing over to persuade him to try ice skating. Maybe if hell froze over, he’d give it a go.

No matter. Aziraphale fastened his skates and ventured out onto the ice, where some of the more confident skaters were gliding hand-in-hand, graceful as pairs of swans. He struck out boldly towards the centre of the river, and promptly fell flat on his backside.

He struggled to his feet, thankful for the extra padding on his posterior and suddenly very glad that Crowley wasn’t around.

After about an hour of practice (and several unfortunate falls) Aziraphale was a fairly competent ice skater. He was also thirsty, and rather peckish. But the potent gin and roast ox being sold by vendors on the ice didn’t tempt him.

He found Crowley waiting for him in their favourite coffeehouse. “Got a sore arse, angel?” he asked, rather loudly, earning him a blush from Aziraphale and stares from the coffeehouse patrons that ranged from amused, to hostile, to curious.

“No,” said Aziraphale, with a glare that softened when Crowley pushed a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of cake towards him.

“Have some Madeira cake, m’dear,” said Crowley, grinning at the awful play on words.

Aziraphale smiled in spite of himself. Madeira cake was (currently) his favourite food. He took a sip of coffee, and found it exactly to his liking.

A moment later, when Crowley cocked an eyebrow at him and said “What? What’s that little smile for?” Aziraphale simply said that the cake was delicious, and thanked him for it.

It wasn’t a lie. Just a harmless evasion. He’d been smiling because he was thinking how awfully nice it was to be _known_. But he couldn’t very well say that out loud, could he?


	7. Pound Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set just after Aziraphale and Crowley's falling-out in the 1800s. And here is a recipe for pound cake - described as the "little black dress of desserts" because it's simple and elegant: https://www.onceuponachef.com/recipes/perfect-pound-cake.html

Aziraphale found it very difficult to feel glum while eating pound cake from Miss Berriman’s tea shop. But apparently it wasn’t impossible.

He had handled the situation badly. He had referred to his … whatever it was, with Crowley, as “fraternising with the enemy”, and that hadn’t gone over at all well.

Crowley was, technically, his enemy of course. He didn’t seem offended by that, but he’d taken issue with the word “fraternise”. Repeating it like it was something sordid.

Aziraphale, who loved words more than anything else in existence (except perhaps cake) knew the Latin root of the root of the word meant “brotherly”. To fraternise with someone was to treat them like a brother.

He considered the notion of brotherhood. Human brothers had an accidental bond. They didn’t choose each other, but were bound together permanently nonetheless. They were playmates and sparring partners. Sometimes adversaries, but loving and loyal nonetheless.

It was a nice thought, but irrelevant. Because Crowley was angry with him, and now he probably wouldn’t see him for centuries.


	8. Pineapple Upside-Down Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for pineapple upside-down cake: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/pineapple-upsidedown-cake
> 
> and my apologies to anyone from Wisconsin.

It was nineteen thirty-something, and Crowley was somewhere in Wisconsin, when he reluctantly tried pineapple upside-down cake. He was on the job, spreading sin and discord (never a difficult task in Wisconsin) and trying to blend in at a dinner party.

The cake was sweet and ridiculous and it reminded him of Aziraphale. Possibly because he would have like it, or possibly because the angel himself was sweet and ridiculous.

Stupid, really, that Crowley could still miss him after so many decades.


	9. Eggless Ginger Cake (with Mock Cream)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet is set after that bit in the church, with the Nazis. If you fancy some wartime-inspired ginger cake, here's a recipe: https://the1940sexperiment.com/2012/07/15/eggless-ginger-cake/

They drove into the dawn. They drove for a long time, and Crowley’s ferocious driving began to have an unwanted effect on Aziraphale’s stomach.

“We should get you some ginger biscuits,” Crowley suggested. “Ginger’s supposed to be good for travel sickness.”

He reached across and pinched Aziraphale’s chubby, green-tinged cheek, and Aziraphale swatted his hand away in irritation. It might not be such a terrible idea, though. Aziraphale had always liked ginger, and his stomach felt queasy in a too-empty way rather than a too-full way.

When they stopped at a tea room in Staffordshire, Aziraphale ordered a slice of ginger cake. Eggless ginger cake, with mock cream.

“How does it taste?”

“Not sweet enough for my taste. Though it does seem to be settling my stomach.”

“That’ll be the sugar rationing.” Crowley shook his head in dismay. “Eggless cakes. Mock cream. You know who’d love all this sort of nonsense?”

“Famine. He and War always were the best of friends.”

As disappointing as the cake was, Aziraphale was grateful for it. He was grateful for the ingenuity of humans. For their capacity to make sacrifices and still find joy in life. He couldn’t help but ruminate on the subject of sacrifice, because he was currently facing the need to make one of his own.

The Arrangement just couldn’t work, in the long term. It was too dangerous. Crowley was dangerous, and he asked dangerous things of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale cared too much for him to say no to those things. It had to end.


	10. Flower Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is obviously set in the 60s, around the time of that heartbreaking scene in the car *sniff*. If you fancy decorating a cake with flowers, lots of them are edible. Violets are sweet, rose petals taste subtly like apple peel, and lavender tastes the same way it smells.

Crowley was in some hippy dippy tea shop in Camden Town, drinking herbal tea and eating a slice of rather strange cake. It was richly spiced, and the smooth white icing was decorated with real flower petals. Pale pink rose petals, and whole pansies, and little blue thingies. The fragrance of it reminded him of something, though he couldn't put his finger on what.

That night, when Aziraphale materialised in his car, he realised. The cake had reminded him of the way the angel smelt – sweet and spicy, and just … good. For perhaps the first time, he realised that he liked being close to the angel, under any circumstances.

Which made it all the more upsetting when the angel handed over the flask of holy water, and announced his intention to bugger off and leave Crowley alone. Crowley offered him a lift. Offered to take him anywhere he wanted to go, and winced at the devotion in his own voice.


	11. Angelcake, Demoncake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had to be done. Here's a recipe for angel food cake: https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/angel-food-cake/   
> and one for devil's food cake: https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/devils_food_cake_49392

“How do you think the boy’s progressing?” Aziraphale asked, not bothering to hide the anxiety in his voice.

“It’s early days,” Crowley reassured. “But he seems…”

“Balanced?”

“Confused. He’s the most morally ambiguous three-year-old I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, I suppose.”

Aziraphale took a bite of his angel food cake. Crowley had been pleased to find that the discreet little café was an equal opportunities sort of place, and also had devil’s food cake on the menu. He’d ordered a slice, mostly out of amusement.

It really was delicious though. Crowley didn’t eat often, but when he did, he liked to make it count. This cake was dark as night and rich as King Midas. It had three layers, a hint of coffee, and plenty of thick, chocolate icing. He was halfway through it when he caught Aziraphale eyeing it covetously.

He could have made a joke about Aziraphale’s small and rather adorable sin. Could have told him “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s cake.” Instead, he forked up a generous chunk of cake and offered the fork to Aziraphale.

“Are you sure?” said the angel, and Crowley nodded insistently. Instead of taking the fork, Aziraphale just leaned forward and ate it hands-free. Crowley snickered at his eagerness.

“Good?”

Aziraphale chewed, swallowed, dabbed at a corner of his mouth with a napkin and said “Divine.”

Without waiting to be offered, Crowley took a small piece of Aziraphale’s cake. It was light as a feather, and very tasty. Instead of being annoyed with Crowley’s presumption, Aziraphale insisted he take a larger piece, and one of the strawberry slices as well.

So it’s got to this point, thought Crowley. Working together, hanging out together and now we’re sharing food. A small, quiet voice in his mind told him that they were meeting in the middle. But that confused and frightened him, so he silenced it.


	12. Funfetti Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for a pretty impressive four-layered funfetti cake: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/funfetti-cake

Warlock had “graduated” from nursery, so there was funfetti cake to celebrate. The child flounced around in a royal blue gown and mortarboard and reluctantly posed for photos while his mother squealed “Oh, he’s such a little man!” and speculated wildly about his future career. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley (dressed as Nanny and Brother Francis, of course) sat on a garden bench and ate their cake.

“What do you think it’s like to have a human childhood?” Aziraphale mused between bites.

“Depends which one you have.”

“True. But in general, I mean. I think it must be nice to start slowly. To learn things and become more capable and independent as the days go by. You and I were rather thrown in at the deep end, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, we were.”

Angels were not born, and they didn’t grow. They were simply called into being and expected to serve God immediately.

“Well, I expect there are plenty of human adults who didn’t have much of a childhood,” Aziraphale continued. “And I think they’re perfectly within their rights to enjoy childhood things during adulthood.”

“Like funfetti cake?”

“Yes. All childish things. I think there’s something very healthy and wholesome about being able to enjoy those things as an adult, and – Oh for goodness sake, Crowley!”

Aziraphale wiped a large quantity of creamy vanilla icing off his face. Crowley licked his fingers and cackled gleefully.

“What? I was just nurturing my inner child!”


	13. Birthday Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaning slightly towards Crowley's side of the argument here.

Warlock’s fifth birthday party was made up of loud, badly-behaved children and bitchy, competitive mothers who kept subtly hinting at how expensive the gifts they’d brought were. Crowley approved of bitchiness and materialism, of course, but it could get tiresome after a while. So after a while, he went out to the garden (“the grounds”, as Warlock’s mum called it, because she liked to pretend she was in a sodding Jane Austen novel) for a few minutes’ peace.

He found Aziraphale sitting on a bench in his usual grass-stained smock, reading a book that was, according to the cover, _Optimizing Your Vegetable Garden_ by Norman Pilkington _._ Crowley suspected it was secretly something by either Charles Dickens or Zadie Smith, the angel’s current favourites.

Crowley sat down beside Aziraphale and sighed heavily. “Do I make an ugly woman?” he asked, which got the angel’s attention.

“Of course not,” he said, closing his book with only a hint of reluctance. “I mean, this particular character does have a rather severe dress sense. But ugly? Certainly not.”

“One of those spoilt brats called me _icky face_.”

“How rude.”

“It’s alright, I miracled him into a snail.”

“Crowley!”

“Just for the afternoon.”

“You can’t!”

“I’m _kidding_.”

He’d thought about it, but the mental image of Aziraphale’s stricken face had somehow stopped him.

“Birthdays are dire,” said Crowley, reaching into the pocket of his skirt for a compact mirror and a tube of lipstick. “Definitely one of my side’s more interesting ideas.”

“Your side? Surely birthdays are an invention of my side. It’s a celebration of life, after all. Of the fact that anyone’s existence in this world is a unique and precious thing.”

Crowley paused in the application of his lipstick, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about, angel? Birthdays are a countdown to death. They’re one of the most potent reminders of human mortality.”

“They’re an excuse to gather your favourite people around you and have fun with them.”

“Your favourite people will inevitably throw you a surprise party you don’t want, or not throw you the surprise party you do want, or buy you terrible presents, or find some other way of showing you they don’t know you at all.”

The argument was long, and increasingly silly. Whether or not balloon animals were an invention of Beelzebub became a point of contention. Aziraphale kept insisting that “Nanny” needed a birthday, because all humans had them and Crowley ought to have a date to hand.

Neither of them won the argument. But on the sixth of June (Nanny’s reluctantly chosen birthday), a delivery van arrived at Warlock’s house with a cake for her. An expertly crafted chocolate cake with red roses made of icing and HAPPY BIRTHDAY in pink letters. Crowley suddenly found Aziraphale’s claim that birthdays were a good thing more convincing.


	14. Black Forest Muffins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't grow up in an "elevenses" house, so I tried to hang out with the kids next door at 11am as much as possible, hehe. If you're in the mood for some fancy elevenses or four o'clockses, here's a recipe for beautiful black forest muffins: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/user/831133/recipe/black-forest-muffins

“But I want one now!”

Warlock was being even more of a pain in the arse than usual. Crowley was doing his best to protect a tray of black forest muffins from the antichrist, but it wasn’t easy.

“Your mummy said they’re for after dinner. You can’t go eating cake between meals.”

“But it’s for elevenses.”

“Elevenses? Which of your little friends told you about elevenses, hm? Was it Tarquin? Imogen?”

“Brother Francis.”

Crowley swore, so quietly that it was inaudible to human ears.

“He says there’s a snack called four o’clockses too.”


	15. Saffron Mud Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This recipe for saffron mud cake has no brandy in it, but it does have white chocolate, cardamom and of course saffron: https://www.maureengayet.com/white-chocolate-saffron-mudcake/

Warlock’s parents permitted their nanny and gardener a little time off over Christmas, which allowed Aziraphale and Crowley a temporary escape from Warlock’s house. It seemed obvious that they would spend Christmas together. Since the house and grounds were so enormous, they actually saw very little of each other and Aziraphale was silently craving some quality time with the demon.

Crowley had initially wanted to go somewhere warm, but Aziraphale had talked him into going to Stockholm (“It’s the Venice of the north, Crowley, don’t tell me you’ve never visited!). Crowley had responded to not getting his own way by ordering reindeer steak for every meal, purely because it distressed Aziraphale (“But it’s _festive_ , Aziraphale. Go on, try some!).

Perhaps they both had occasion to be in a sour mood with each other but for some reason, they weren’t. On Christmas day, they found a pub with a huge open fire and ate saffron mud cake and drank brandy. Aziraphale was fairly sure there was brandy in the cake, too. And it must have been the brandy that caused him to tell Crowley there was no-one on Earth, or anywhere else, he would rather spend Christmas with.

“Awwwww, am I getting a kiss under the mistletoe tonight?” Crowley slurred (he’d had rather a lot of brandy as well). Aziraphale made a face. He was not accustomed to kissing and frankly, Crowley’s tongue scared him.

No kisses under the mistletoe, then. But there was a long, lingering hug in the hallway outside Aziraphale’s hotel room. One might almost call it a cuddle. Aziraphale nuzzled tipsily into Crowley’s neck, and Crowley ruffled his hair. Goodness, that felt wonderful.

“Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Merry Christmas, dear boy.”


	16. Chocolate Rice Krispie Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chocolate rice krispie cakes are the easiest cakes to make and so so tasty. You just melt chocolate, mix in the rice krispies, spoon the mixture into paper cake cases and decorate with your favourite sweets.

“Now we take a little bird’s egg, and we pop it in the nest,” said “Nanny”, decorating a freshly-made chocolate rice krispie cake with a Cadbury Mini Egg. “And what do we do if we see a real bird’s nest, Warlock?”

“Brother Francis says to leave it alone, because the mama bird knows how to look after her eggs and we have to respect her.”

“No, Warlock, we steal the eggs and destroy the nest. The gardener’s an idiot.”

“But you like him, though.”

“Not in the slightest.”

“You went on vacation together. Are you gonna get married one day?”

“And why would you assume that, hm? Because I’m a woman and he’s a man, and everyone needs to be paired up in neat little heteronormative packages for the convenience of society?”

Warlock picked his nose and said “What’s heteronormative?”


	17. Chocolate Mini Roll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys are struggling a bit with parenting.
> 
> Also, I don't know if Cadbury chocolate mini rolls are a thing outside the UK, so here's a recipe for a homemade version: https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/recipes/all/prue-leith-chocolate-mini-rolls/

Warlock had been trick-or-treating, and had done very well for himself. Since he was only nine and already had three fillings, Aziraphale convinced himself he was doing the boy a favour by taking a chocolate mini roll from the overflowing plastic pumpkin.

At any rate, Aziraphale was feeling stressed and chocolate took the edge off. He and Crowley sat in the darkened kitchen, discussing the moral education of the antichrist.

“Did he behave himself tonight?” Aziraphale asked, nibbling at the mini roll.

“Not at all. He kept threatening to turn the younger kids into toads.”

“I thought he was dressed as a pirate.”

“He was. I think the kids were more confused than scared.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I feel like he’s all we talk about these days. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I felt like myself.”

Crowley nodded knowingly. “Tell you what, angel – when all this is over, you and me are going out for a big, fancy dinner.”

“We are?”

“Of course we are.”

“Alright then, it’s a date.”

“Unless we don’t manage to stop the apocalypse.”

“Oh, let’s not talk about that right now.”

“Because then we’ll have to wage war on each other instead.”

Aziraphale ate his last bite of mini roll and tried not to think about what that would be like.


	18. Marble Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marble cake with a mocha twist: https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/marble_cake_64138

“Brother Francis” had gone AWOL, and Warlock’s mother was not happy about this at all. Luckily, Crowley had a good idea of where to find him, so he made a quick, discreet journey to Soho.

As predicted, Aziraphale was in his bookshop. Looking like himself, and sitting on the floor, surrounded by books.

“I wanted to say a proper goodbye,” he said, forlornly, “In case things don’t work out.”

“You were saying goodbye to the books?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No. I’ve been stress-eating, a little. And now I’ve probably got crumbs in all the first editions.” He gestured to a plate, which had a half-eaten slice of marble cake on it.

Crowley sighed and sat down beside him, smoothing out his skirt carefully (he hadn’t bothered to change out of Nanny’s clothes).

“It’s going to be alright, angel. I promise. We’ll be fine, no matter what.”

Aziraphale made a non-committal noise and Crowley wondered if he was worried about people other than himself. Probably. He worried a lot about other people. It was stupid, of course, but also quite sweet. Since Crowley couldn’t exactly promise that the world would be fine, no matter what, he placed a hand between Aziraphale’s shoulder blades instead and stroked up and down his back.

“Look, we have to get back soon or they’ll sack you. But I’ve got quite a comfortable bosom these days, if you wanted to rest your head on it for a few minutes.”

“Thank you for the offer. But I think I want to carry on saying goodbye to the books.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No, it’s alright. I’ll only be a moment.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale pick up the scattered books and place them gently back on the bookshelves, muttering “Goodbye, Jane Eyre” and “Goodbye, To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Goodbye, Goodbye Mr Chips” in the softest, saddest voice Crowley had ever heard.

“You know, even if the world gets destroyed, it’s not like they never existed,” said Crowley, as Aziraphale locked up the bookshop. “Just because something isn’t as permanent as you thought it would be, that doesn’t take away how amazing it is.”

Without warning, Aziraphale enveloped Crowley in a hug of such rib-crushing ferocity, he thought he was going to need a new body.


	19. Fudge Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apocalypse averted! And Crowley is coming to terms with the fact that Aziraphale swore for the first time in millennia and he wasn't around to hear it.
> 
> I doubt The Ritz sells fudge cake, it's probably not fancypants enough. But it's delicious, so here's a recipe: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/naughty-chocolate-fudge-cake

“I can’t believe you said the F word and I bloody missed it!”

“I was very distressed.”

“Will you say it again, just for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“We’re at The Ritz, Crowley, it’s not the sort of establishment one ought to be swearing in.”

“You can whisper it, no-one’s going to hear except me. Go on, say the F word, say it, just the once.”

“Fudge cake!”

“What? That’s not the F word!”

Aziraphale jabbed a triumphant finger at the menu. “They have chocolate fudge cake, I shall definitely order that for dessert. Oh, then again, I rather fancy this white chocolate and raspberry thingy…”

Crowley rolled his eyes and let the matter drop.


	20. Salted Caramel Cheesecake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/salted-caramel-cheesecake
> 
> I don't know how this cheesecake compares to the one they serve at The Cheesecake Factory, but it's simple to make and looks reeeeeally delicious. Aziraphale deserves a big fat slice of it and Gabriel deserves a big fat slap in the face for telling him to "lose the gut".
> 
> (If you're sensitive about fat shaming, this chapter does mention it but it's pretty low-angst).

Now that the apocalypse was no longer an imminent threat, Aziraphale and Crowley agreed it was high time for a holiday. They got a little carried away with planning it, and a week-long getaway turned into a month-long road trip around the USA.

Aziraphale found America fascinating, and America seemed to find him fascinating in return. People kept remarking on how cute his accent was. Every time this happened, he would get a little flustered and pink-cheeked, and compliment the accent of whoever he was talking to, regardless of what that accent was. And every time he did this, Crowley would get the urge to hug him.

They were in Chicago when they discovered The Cheesecake Factory. With 32 different cheesecakes to choose from, the angel should have been in heaven (so to speak) but instead he looked anxious.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t,” he said, looking at the menu as if it represented some deep internal conflict.

“You can’t come to The Cheesecake Factory and not eat cheesecake!”

“Yes, but … cheesecake isn’t exactly healthy, you know. It’s full of fat and sugar.”

“You’re an immortal being, it’s not like you have to worry about heart disease or tooth decay.”

“True…”

That anxious look was still there, and it was making Crowley anxious. “Come on, out with it angel. What’s the matter?”

Aziraphale sighed, put down the menu and grabbed his protruding belly in a demonstrative kind of way.

“Oh.”

“It never used to bother me, but in this particular part of space and time, spare flesh is sometimes considered … unsightly.”

“By some people, yeah. Other people consider it…” Crowley cast around for the right word and settled on “sightly.”

“Mm. I suppose.”

“What’s brought this on, anyway?”

“Just something Gabriel said.”

Crowley made a very rude noise that hopefully made it clear what he thought of Gabriel and anything he might have said.

“Look, eat cheesecake or don’t eat cheesecake. Whatever you want. But just for the record, you’re gorgeous.”

“I am?” Aziraphale looked genuinely surprised.

“You couldn’t be _unsightly_ if you tried.”

It was an honest compliment. Crowley wasn’t a particularly good judge of beauty, but the angel had something indefinable that seemed to light him up from within. Even if he was in a car crash and messed up his pretty face and mangled his sweet, squidgy body, that light would still burn brightly and make him beautiful.

“Well, in that case I think I shall have the salted caramel cheesecake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two universal truths:
> 
> 1) All bodies are beautiful
> 
> 2) Cheesecake is our friend


	21. Jaffa Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't live in the UK, a Jaffa Cake is a tasty snack that is somehow more divisive than Brexit. I am 100% on Aziraphale's side of the argument.

They had always argued.

It was to be expected, of course. They might be on their own side now, but their essential natures were still, in some way, opposed to each other. They argued about everything, from the grand questions of existence, to…

“Crowley, you can’t seriously be suggesting that a Jaffa Cake is a biscuit? It’s got _cake_ right there in the name!”

“What’s in a name, angel? Can you dunk a Jaffa Cake in your tea? Yes. Do you eat it off a plate with a cake fork? No. It’s a bloody biscuit.”


	22. Simnel Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not familiar with simnel cake, it's a light fruitcake, covered in almond paste and traditionally eaten at Easter: https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/simnelcake_792

It was Easter Sunday, which meant a slice of simnel cake and a rather sombre toast.

“To absent friends,” said Aziraphale, raising a glass.

“I’d hardly consider him a friend,” said Crowley. “We hung out for a bit, that’s all.”

“You showed him all the kingdoms of the world.”

“I was bored. He was bored. And I doubt he would’ve considered me a friend, what with me being…” Crowley lifted his sunglasses briefly, by way of referencing his demonic nature.

“But that was his entire _modus operandi_ , wasn’t it? Being a friend to everyone, demons included. Rather radical for the time.”

“Even more radical for these times.”

Aziraphale had one of those strange moments when he wanted to hug the cynicism out of his friend. But that couldn’t be done. And if it could, Crowley wouldn’t be Crowley anymore.


	23. Beltane Fried Honey Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Easter cakes are delicious, but the pagan holidays have some good traditional cakes too! https://thepaganwriter.tumblr.com/post/143081372170/beltane-fried-honey-cakes
> 
> Also, I should've mentioned this already but prompts are welcome for this fic! If there's a cute scene you'd like to see (or if you want to make sure your favourite cake gets included) leave a prompt in the comments.

Aziraphale saw nothing wrong with being friends with a witch. He was best friends with a demon, after all, so any other philosophical differences rather paled in comparison.

He and Crowley had been in touch with Anathema and Newt since the almost-apocalypse and now Anathema, bless her heart, had invited them round to celebrate Beltane. They drank Pimm’s and ate fried honey cakes in the garden of her cottage, though she insisted that they leave a tiny morsel of each cake next to the rhododendron. “For the fairies,” she explained, matter-of-factly. Crowley muttered something about the rats getting there before the fairies and Aziraphale shushed him.

“I’ll be casting a few spells at twilight,” Anathema said, fishing a slice of cucumber out of her glass and nibbling it. “Do you want me to cast any for you guys? A quick blessing or charm?”

“It’s awfully kind of you to offer…” Aziraphale began, hoping he could think of a suitably polite way of declining before he got to the end of the sentence. Fortunately, Crowley interrupted him.

“Can you do protection spells?”

“Sure, those are my bread and butter.”

“How about a spell to keep this one safe?” He jerked his head in Aziraphale’s direction.

“Crowley, don’t waste her time!” Aziraphale spluttered indignantly. “Since when do I need protecting?”

“Since forever!”

“Oh, nonsense.”

“Do you not remember how many times I’ve saved your arse? I had to save you from the guillotine during the French revolution, and from the Nazis in World War Two, and-”

“How about I cast a protection spell for both of you?” Anathema suggested diplomatically.

“Well, alright then,” said Aziraphale.

He felt rather grumpy and rather touched at the same time. Crowley seemed to have a knack for making him feel that way.


	24. Battenberg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only ever had shop-bought Battenberg before, but here's a tasty-looking recipe for a homemade version: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/battenberg-cake
> 
> And here are two awkward aces talking about sex...

It was the first sunny bank holiday in all of Britain’s history, so Aziraphale closed the bookshop and he and Crowley took a train to Brighton.

They ate a picnic lunch on the beach. Cheese and pickle sandwiches, apples, and slices of Battenberg. Crowley had an awful habit of peeling the marzipan off and eating it in one long strip. Aziraphale ate his in a much more genteel manner.

He had almost finished when he realised Crowley was humming. It was a familiar tune, but not long-ago familiar. A few years ago-familiar.

“What are you humming?”

“Cake By The Ocean,” said Crowley, nodding at the remnants of Aziraphale’s Battenberg, then gesturing towards the sparkling water in front of them.

“Oh, I remember that song!” Aziraphale exclaimed, intensely proud of himself for remembering a song from the 21st century. “It was awfully nice to have a popular song about something innocent. I do worry about the children of today – they’re exposed to so much vulgarity on the radio.”

“What? The song’s about fucking on a beach.”

This was a poorly-timed revelation, because it caused Aziraphale to choke on cake crumbs. Crowley slapped his back a few times, offered him a bottle of water, and said “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“Why would anyone do that on a beach?” Aziraphale looked doubtfully at the sand and pebbles that surrounded them.

“Humans do it in all sorts of strange places,” said Crowley. “I’m not sure why. Give me a decent bed every time.”

Most silences between them were comfortable these days. But this was one of the rare, uncomfortable ones.

“What’s that face for?” said Crowley.

“What face?”

“The face you’re making. You look all confused.”

“I suppose I had thought … that you and I were the same, in that respect.”

“Similar, I think. I’ve never felt the need for it. Or got it mixed up with love, or beauty, the way humans do.”

“Do you wish you could?”

Crowley was silent for a long moment, but sounded sure of himself when he said “No. I think it’s easier to appreciate the Mona Lisa’s beauty when you’re not trying to shag it. And love is love, whether you mix it up with sex or not. You can’t corrupt it or improve on it. It’s the biggest thing She ever invented.”

The biggest thing She ever invented. Aziraphale felt a sudden, inexplicable jolt of fear. He decided to chase it away with embarrassment.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking … why do it, if you’ve never felt a need for it?”

“I don’t do it often, but the whole skin-on-skin thing feels good sometimes. And it’s a very effective way of stealing body heat. Also…”

“Go on.”

“You won’t like it.”

“It’s alright.”

“It feels … powerful. You take someone to bed and watch everything fall away. Manners, morals, everything. You could have a duchess underneath you, and she’s just a woman thrashing about, messing up her hair. Or, I dunno, a Viking warrior. And he’s just some bloke lifting his hips and begging for it.”

Aziraphale ate the last of his Battenberg, chewing thoughtfully. Crowley looked worried.

“You’re not freaked out, are you?”

“Hm? No, dear boy. I was only wondering if the duchess and the Viking were hypothetical examples, or…”

Crowley cackled, in a way that pretty much confirmed they were not hypothetical examples.


	25. Rainbow Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm already wondering what Pride will be like this year. I'm guessing parades and huge get-togethers are out, but at least we can still eat rainbow cake: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/rainbow-cake

They went to Pride by accident. They went for a walk through the park, and Pride was just sort of there, all around them. Stripy flags of every possible colour combination, and love of every possible kind surrounded them. There was even a cake stall, selling tall slices of rainbow cake.

Crowley caught Aziraphale staring at two very elderly men, ambling along hand in hand.

“You alright, angel?”

“Yes. I was just thinking of what they must have gone through to get here. Sometimes I can’t quite believe how cruel the past was. Parts of it, anyway.”

Crowley nodded, and slung an arm around his shoulder to comfort him without making a big deal out of it.

Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to think like that, on account of being an angel. Not that he was supposed to approve of cruelty in any form, or disapprove of human sexuality in any form – he just wasn’t supposed to think, at all. But he did. He thought constantly, and he thought deeply, and Crowley wouldn’t have changed that for the world.


	26. Red Velvet Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for red velvet cake that contains nothing weird except white wine vinegar: https://www.bakingmad.com/recipe/red-velvet-cake

“What exactly makes red velvet cake red?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing his cake with more than a little suspicion (they were currently watching _Dracula_ on Crowley’s TV).

“I think it’s cochineal beetles. They use them in red food colouring all the time.”

“Surely not.”

“Well, does the cake taste like strawberries?”

“No.”

“Cherries?”

“No.”

“Raspberries? Red wine? Tomatoes? Any other red food at all?”

“Errr…”

“Must be cochineal beetles then.”


	27. Fondant Fancies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for homemade, extra-posh, lemon and lavender fondant fancies: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/lemon-lavender-fondant-fancies

“If you were a cake,” said Crowley, “you’d be this cake. No doubt about it.”

The cake in question was a yellow fondant fancy, and Crowley was making it walk around the plate and say “Oh hello, my name is Aziraphale,” in what could only be described as a _cakey_ voice.

“Well, you wouldn’t even be a cake,” said Aziraphale, with as much malice as he could muster. “You’d be … sauerkraut.”

“Oh come on, that’s just harsh.”


	28. Blueberry Muffins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for blueberry muffins: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/blueberry-muffin
> 
> And here's some sleepy cuddles :)

Crowley yawned theatrically, stretching his long arms toward the ceiling.

“Are you sleeping tonight?” Aziraphale inquired, swallowing the last of his wine.

“Yep. Haven’t slept in a week. Promised myself a good eight hours.”

Aziraphale shook his head in bemusement. “I can’t understand why you’re so fond of temporary unconsciousness.”

“It’s peaceful. Restorative. Sleep is fantastic, haven’t you ever tried it?”

“I might’ve _tried_ once or twice, but it just … didn’t happen.”

Crowley raised a quizzical eyebrow at Aziraphale and said “Wanna try again?”

And that was how Aziraphale ended up in Crowley’s bed, wearing borrowed pyjamas (the trousers were a little too long for him and the top was actually just a large tee-shirt with the word “Metallica” on it) and listening to the slow breathing of the very sleepy demon beside him.

Waiting for sleep was unnerving. Surely passing from consciousness to unconsciousness couldn’t be pleasant. And what if something bad happened while he was asleep and unaware of everything? And what if he never woke up? He squirmed restlessly, unable to get comfortable.

“What’s wrong?” Crowley muttered drowsily.

“Nothing’s happening.”

“It takes a while, sometimes. Just gotta be patient. Patience is a virtue, y’know.”

Aziraphale huffed an irritated sigh. “I don’t know how humans can willingly surrender themselves to oblivion every night. It’s … frightening.”

The next words Crowley uttered drove every feverish thought from Aziraphale’s mind.

“Do you want me to hold you?”

Well.

Goodness gracious.

“Yes. But only if you want to.”

Evidently, Crowley did want to, because his wiry limbs were wrapped around Aziraphale’s body in an instant. Aziraphale held on to him, loosely at first, and then not so loosely.

“Mmm, you’re warm,” Crowley purred.

Aziraphale certainly felt warm. And comforted. And safe. Which was strange, because there was nothing safe about being here, in the arms of a demon. He trusted Crowley implicitly, of course, but there was no doubt that an intimate relationship between an angel and a demon would always attract trouble for both parties.

The angel couldn’t quite bring himself to care. His grip on consciousness loosened and in the darkness, colourful images began to stir. They fascinated him, though if Crowley hadn’t been there, they would probably have scared him. His body felt heavy (possibly because Crowley was practically lying on top of him now) and then there was nothing.

There was nothing for quite a while.

The first something after the nothing was Crowley’s voice saying “Morning, sunshine.” Aziraphale struggled to open his eyes and prop himself up against the pillows. His body and his mind both felt sluggish, though not unpleasantly so.

“I must say, Crowley, sleep isn’t as restorative as you claimed. My head feels like… What have you got there?”

“Lattes and blueberry muffins. Better get up if you want one, I’m not letting you get crumbs in the bed.”

They ate muffins and drank lattes at the table. True to form, they didn’t talk about last night. And if Aziraphale wondered what, if anything, the new intimacy meant, he kept that question to himself.


	29. Fire and Ice Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, I couldn't find the recipe I wanted for this chapter. But here's a nice alternative, with ginger turmeric syrup for the "fire" and peppermint buttercream for the "ice": https://norecipes.com/daring-bakers-fire-and-ice-opera-cake/

Anathema was surely a great and powerful witch. Who else could make a cake that contained both habanero peppers and lime sorbet, and was somehow delicious?

“Anathema,” said Aziraphale, placing his fork down on a spotlessly clean plate, “You’re a godblessed genius.”

Anathema giggled. “You wouldn’t think the flavours would go together but they totally do. Opposites attract, am I right?”

She gave Aziraphale a knowing look, and the angel returned it with a blank, baffled expression. Crowley thought he better explain things sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, uh, just to clarify, we’re not … y’know…”

“Sleeping together?” Anathema prompted, direct as ever.

“We slept together just last week,” said Aziraphale, and Newt spluttered as a mouthful of coffee apparently went down the wrong way. “I rather enjoyed it, actually, once I got over the nerves. Do you think we could do it again?”

“She didn’t mean it literally, angel, she meant the other thing.”

“So, no to sex but yes to sharing a bed,” said Anathema, looking more thoughtful than confused. “Are you guys, like, cuddle buddies?”

“Excuse me,” said Crowley, with all the dignity he could muster. “Aziraphale and I are celestial beings, thousands of years old, from opposing sides of the cosmos. Our relationship is inescapably complex and probably beyond the understanding of humans.”

Anathema looked chastened, until Newt muttered “I think they cuddled,” from behind the safety of his coffee mug.


	30. Matcha Mille Crepe Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a recipe for matcha mille crepe cake (it's pretty intense!) https://www.indulgewithmimi.com/no-bake-japanese-matcha-green-tea-mille-crepe-cake/
> 
> I take no credit for the line "gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide" - that's from the book. :)

Something similar happened when they went to the fancy, Asian fusion restaurant that Aziraphale kept going on about.

Crowley was watching Aziraphale go to town on a many layered, vibrantly green confection called “matcha mille crepe cake”. And maybe he was looking at him in a particularly fond way when he overheard a middle-aged Japanese woman at a nearby table utter the phrase “cute couple”.

It was harmless enough, really. There certainly hadn’t been an ounce of sarcasm or malice in the woman’s voice. But it was enough to drag Aziraphale’s attention away from the odd-looking, apparently delicious cake and make him frown in confusion.

“Why do people keep thinking we’re a couple?”

“Because we’ve got chemistry,” said Crowley.

He grinned mischievously, then grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it with exaggerated gallantry, making him splutter with laughter.

Obviously, there was more to it than that. There was the fact that, for some reason, people tended to assume that Aziraphale was gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide. There was also the fact that Aziraphale liked nice things. Things like intimate, candlelit restaurants and fancy brunches and those chocolate truffles that came in a heart-shaped box. And Crowley had absolutely no qualms about accompanying him to intimate restaurants or buying him chocolates, because he liked to make Aziraphale happy. But all those nice things were reserved for couples.

Crowley considered what their options would be if they stuck to the rules of heterosexual, male, English humans. They could eat at Nandos, or Wetherspoons. Maybe he could buy Aziraphale a Snickers bar once in a while.

Nah. It wasn’t the same. Especially for Aziraphale, who was a foodie and not a fan of Nandos. And anyway, Crowley was a rebel by nature. He decided to ignore the rules completely and spoil his angel rotten.


	31. Malt Loaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ask me, malt loaf is a compromise cake - it's what you eat when you're trying to be healthy. But spread it with butter and it's a whole different ball game: https://www.thespruceeats.com/homemade-sticky-malt-loaf-recipe-435619

Despite Crowley’s “fuck the rules” attitude, there was one situation that proved rather sticky, and that was Valentine’s Day.

The idea of going out to dinner with Aziraphale and being mistaken for a couple didn’t bother him. The idea of trying to eat dinner amidst a sickly, pink-and-red, forced celebration of a type of love that baffled him wasn’t exactly enticing.

But Valentine’s day was on a Friday, and they always hung out on Friday nights. So he discussed it with Aziraphale and they decided to spend the evening at Crowley’s flat. And they would keep everything strictly unromantic.

They ended up watching _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ (Aziraphale hid behind a cushion for large parts of it), eating macaroni cheese (the least romantic of all pasta dishes, but delicious) and having malt loaf for dessert (the least romantic of all cakes, but okay when spread thickly with butter).


	32. Tiramisu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for tiramisu: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/best-ever-tiramisu 
> 
> But I won't judge if you'd rather get one from Marks & Spencer.

“This is seriously the best tiramisu I’ve ever eaten,” said Anathema, with a blissed-out look on her face. “You gotta give me the recipe.”

“Ah, it’s nothing special,” said Crowley, with obviously false modesty. “Just sugar, eggs, coffee … those spongey things … some creamy stuff…”

“Cream, dear,” Aziraphale supplied helpfully.

“You miracled this, then pretended you cooked it, didn’t you?” said Newt.

“Errr, well…”

“Oh come on, mate! That’s the demon equivalent of taking credit for a Marks and Sparks dessert.”


	33. Carrot Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for this most controversial of cakes: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/yummy-scrummy-carrot-cake-recipe

Despite how long they’d known each other, and despite the undeniable intimacy of their relationship these days, Crowley was still full of surprises.

Like the time Aziraphale ordered carrot cake in a café and Crowley turned pink with suppressed laughter.

“What? What is it?”

“I invented that,” said Crowley, pointing at the carrot cake and glowing with pride.

“Why would you do that? Carrot cake’s a _nice_ thing.”

“And plenty of people would agree with you. But observe…”

Crowley turned to the couple at the table nearest to them and, without preamble, said “Guys, what do you think of carrot cake? Yay or nay?”

“Oh, I luuuuurve carrot cake,” said the woman. “I wanted to split a slice with Tim, but he doesn’t like it.”

“It’s vegetables in a cake,” said Tim, snippily. “It’s mad. Like eating strips of courgette and pretending it’s spaghetti.”

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to be healthy,” the woman sniffed.

“Carrot cake isn’t healthy, for God’s sake. Next thing you’ll be telling me it’s one of your five a day.”

“It is if you put enough carrot in it. Why d’you have to be so narrow minded?”

The argument continued, getting broader and angrier, until the pair left the café in a huff. Crowley stood up and took a bow, which Aziraphale did not find remotely amusing.


	34. Cupcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you disagree with Aziraphale regarding cupcakes, here is a recipe to try: https://wildwildwhisk.com/oreo-cookies-cream-cupcakes/

“Aziraphale”, as a name, was just too long. Crowley was too lazy to use all five syllables and his friend refused to answer to “Az”, so he was constantly thinking up pet names.

“Angel” was the one he used most often, but he also liked “Sunshine”, “Sweet Pea” and “Mr Fancypants” (which had more syllables than “Aziraphale”, but it was funny and it suited him).

A trip to a bakery in Marylebone provided the newest nickname. Aziraphale tried his first cupcake (a “cookies and cream” one, with an Oreo on top) and wasn’t remotely impressed.

“Nope, the proportions are all wrong,” he insisted, after a couple of bites. “There’s far too much icing. And why would anyone top a cake with a cookie? Firmer textures go on the bottom, surely.”

He was looking at the cupcake the way Crowley looked at his plants, which made it obvious that his new pet name had to be “Cupcake”.

After all, the ideal nickname was just a little bit annoying to the person saddled with it.


	35. Fairy Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a recipe for fairy cakes with particularly drool-worthy chocolate icing. Better than Betty Crocker? Is it possible? https://www.goodtoknow.co.uk/recipes/chocolate-topped-fairy-cakes

Since cupcakes had been such a disappointment, Crowley had suggested fairy cakes as an alternative. And when Aziraphale couldn’t find any in the shops, Crowley offered him the use of his oven if he ever wanted to bake them.

Aziraphale accepted enthusiastically. He would bake two dozen lovely, fluffy fairy cakes, maybe with chocolate chips. He would fill Crowley’s nice-but-not-exactly-homey flat with warmth and the scent of baking, and then he and Crowley could have a pot of tea and a cake or two, fresh from the oven. It was going to be a lovely afternoon.

It was a disaster. Aziraphale stared at the burnt, unappetizing looking cakes that had emerged from the oven and sighed heavily.

“How’s it going, cupcake?” said Crowley, hugging him from behind and kissing the top of his head in a way that suggested he knew exactly how it was going.

“You can see perfectly well how it’s going,” said Aziraphale. And though his voice was snippy, his hand came up automatically to stroke Crowley’s forearm. “They’re burnt to a crisp. And they’re flat, too. Self-raising flour my _backside_.”

Crowley sniggered, then said, “Take heart, angel. There’s nothing Betty Crocker and her chocolate fudge icing can’t fix.”

Which turned out to be entirely true.


	36. Cake Pops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shockingly, I have never eaten a cake pop. It's on my bucket list. https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/cake-pops

It was a work of art. A perfect sphere of cake, encased in lemon-yellow icing with fine white stripes and multi-coloured sprinkles. Aziraphale ate it in one bite.

“The only thing wrong with cake pops,” he said, after chewing meditatively, “is that they’re too small. Really, they ought to be more the size of a toffee apple.”

“You can’t go around eating a big ball of cake on a stick,” Crowley protested.

“Why ever not?”

“It’s just … weird.”

“I think it’s a grand idea.”

“It’s ridiculous. _You’re_ ridiculous.”

“I’m forward-thinking.”


	37. Dream Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No recipe for this cake because, sadly, it's not real.

Aziraphale was standing on a high diving board, above a cake the size of a swimming pool. Which perhaps ought to have been wonderful, but instead it was rather frightening. On the other side of the giant cake, Crowley stood on a high diving board too, wearing swimming trunks and goggles and a bright orange swimming cap. He waved at Aziraphale, then dived into the cake.

Crowley could swim, but could he swim through cake? Aziraphale wasn’t sure, so he dived in after him to make sure he was alright. Halfway through the dive, Aziraphale realised that he had serious doubts about his own ability to swim through cake.

He needn’t have worried. He passed effortlessly through the cake’s topping of whipped cream and enormous cherries, and just as effortlessly through a layer of sponge. Then there was a layer of teeth, then raspberry jam, then a small ocean. Finally, he reached the bottom layer of sponge, where Crowley was lying in the foetal position, very still.

Aziraphale was afraid for a moment, thinking he was hurt. Perhaps he had even drowned in the small ocean. But then he realised that Crowley was merely sleeping, and then he realised that he, himself, was sleeping too. So he lay down beside Crowley and woke up.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the back of Crowley’s head. Of course, he had slept over at Crowley’s flat because they had stayed up until 2am watching films. It was very nice to dream of someone and then wake up beside that same someone. It made Aziraphale feel cohesive, as though all the different parts of himself – even the silly parts – made perfect sense.


	38. Caterpillar Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're never too old for a caterpillar cake: https://www.biscuiteers.com/blog/recipes/chocolate-cake-recipe

“What’s this?”

“It’s a snake cake. Happy birthday you old serpent!”

Crowley looked at the chocolate-coated Swiss roll cake with the obnoxiously cheery face on the front, and was unconvinced.

“It’s one of those caterpillar cakes.”

“No, no, it’s definitely supposed to be a snake.”

“It’s got feet.”

“No, those are just … extra bits of white chocolate.”

“I’ve seen it in Tesco. It’s Colin the Friendly Caterpillar Cake.”

“You must have it confused with something else.”

Crowley had to hand it to Aziraphale. He rarely lied but when he did, he really committed to it.

“You will eat some, won’t you?”

Great. Now he was giving him that puppy dog look that always softened him like butter in the sunshine.

“Sure. I’ll eat its stupid fucking face.”

Well, softened him a _little_. Crowley was never going to be a birthday person, and Aziraphale just had to learn to accept that.


	39. Kendal Mint Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kendal mint cake isn't really a cake. It's basically a bar of peppermint-flavoured sugar, very popular with climbers and serious hikers in the UK.

It had been Aziraphale’s idea to climb Mount Snowdon, but he had quickly come to regret it. Crowley, with his long limbs and natural agility, took to the climb like a duck to water and left Aziraphale lagging behind.

Halfway to the summit, Aziraphale insisted on a break and a snack. For the sake of tradition, he had brought Kendal mint cake, which he nibbled and gnawed at rather desperately.

Finally, they made it to the top. Aziraphale, breathless and sweaty, almost collapsed. Crowley basked in the unfiltered sunshine and admired the view.

“Makes you feel small, doesn’t it?” said Crowley.

It was an odd sentiment. Most humans, when they reached the summit of a mountain, felt grand and powerful and important. They looked down on the world as if they owned it. And here was a demon, who looked at all the splendour spread out below him and felt humble.

That was the moment. Not the moment when it _happened_. Probably there was no such moment – just a slow process of things becoming deeper, richer, more intense. But that was the moment when Aziraphale knew for certain that he loved Crowley. Loved him with every part of his being, and probably always would.


	40. Lemon Drizzle Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for lemon drizzle cake: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/lemon-drizzle-cake 
> 
> And here's a kind of important moment between our boys.

Lemon drizzle cake was one of Aziraphale’s favourites, and this one was particularly good. Moist and tangy, with plenty of sweet, fondant icing. But he couldn’t eat more than a couple of bites, because his stomach was in knots.

He could just keep quiet about it. Let it remain unsaid, and find ways of showing it, instead.

But no, that wouldn’t do. Azirapahale was a man of words, and these words in particular were practically vibrating against his tongue.

“I love you.”

Crowley froze, with his mug of coffee halfway to his mouth. The clamour of the small café filled the silence that stretched between them.

“It’s alright,” said Aziraphale. “You don’t have to say it back. I just … it needed to be said.”

Crowley lowered his coffee mug, and Aziraphale watched in fascination as a smile grew on his face, like he couldn’t quite control it.

“I love you too, angel.”

“Really?”

“’Course I do. You’re my favourite person in the whole universe.”

Aziraphale might have got a little teary-eyed at that.

As tricky as it was to say it for the first time, afterwards it came easily. They began to say it on a regular basis, adapting it for any occasion.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you. Gimme a cuddle.”

“I love you but you’re being ridiculous.”

“I love you even more than cake.”


	41. Marmalade Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for marmalade cake: http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/22450/marmalade-cake.aspx 
> 
> Because it's not just me, right? Aziraphale=Paddington!

Aziraphale was halfway through a slice of excellent marmalade cake when Crowley exclaimed “Paddington Bear!”

Startled, Aziraphale brushed sticky crumbs from his mouth and said “What on earth?”

“I just realised, that’s who you remind me of sometimes.”

“A bear?”

“ _Paddington_ Bear. Don’t you know it?”

“No, I can’t say that I do.”

“Never mind, just eat your marmalade.”


	42. Vegan Cherry and Almond Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a vegan recipe for an old-school cherry and almond cake: https://www.vegansociety.com/resources/recipes/cakes-meringues-and-desserts/cherry-and-almond-cake
> 
> If you're sensitive about animal cruelty, please be aware that this chapter contains a brief mention of, err, the realities of farming.

Aziraphale had found the nicest vegan café serving the loveliest, sweetest, fresh-out-of-the-ovenest cherry and almond cake. So he was rather put out by Crowley’s attitude.

“Cruelty-free,” he scoffed. “There’s no such thing as cruelty-free food. Where do you think the flour for that cake came from?”

“Wheat, I suppose,” said Aziraphale, feeling as though he were walking into a trap.

“Ever seen a wheat field after harvest? Decapitated rabbits everywhere!”

Crowley didn’t bother to lower his voice, and a young woman with a nose ring and a tee-shirt that read “Fish Are Friends, Not Food!” openly scowled at him. Aziraphale shot her an apologetic look – one that he’d perfected since he and Crowley became close.

“Living a cruelty-free life is a very noble goal,” Aziraphale scolded. “Even if it is practically impossible. You’re only sneering at it because you don’t have the discipline to attempt it yourself.”

“What? I have discipline.”

“Prove it.”

“Okay then, I’ll eat the vegan cake.”

Crowley made a grab for Aziraphale’s plate, but he snatched it away just in time.

“So how am I supposed to prove it?”

Aziraphale thought long and hard about this. It wouldn’t be difficult for Crowley to go vegan because he didn’t technically need to eat. But there must be some way of challenging him…

“Your plants!” Aziraphale exclaimed triumphantly. “If you really think you have the discipline required to live a cruelty-free life, you can stop being horrid to your plants.”

Crowley squirmed – clearly not enthusiastic about this idea.

Nonetheless, he gave it a go. Not with all the plants, of course. But he selected one lucky peace lily and spoke to it in a much nicer way than he spoke to all the others. That is, he paid it grudging compliments through gritted teeth, and said things like “Just grow faster, won’t you? I mean, if it’s not too much trouble… Take a self-care day, if you need to.”

By the time it bloomed (much later than all his other, terrified plants) he was so sick of the sight of it that he gave it to Aziraphale. Aziraphale promptly over-watered it, and it died.


	43. German Chocolate Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop, things got a bit sensual! Which is perhaps inevitable when German chocolate cake is involved: https://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/german-chocolate-cake/17f6f6d1-2a74-4626-a51a-dd1cd5fc22fd 
> 
> This chapter may contain an intoxicated demon quoting scripture to an intoxicated angel.

Aziraphale had an endearing habit of sort of _cooing_ over a cake before he ate it.

“Good gracious, look at this cake! Isn’t it beautiful? Almost too beautiful to eat, but I’m going to eat it anyway.”

That sort of nonsense.

Still, Crowley supposed that this particular cake was worth cooing over. Three layers of chocolate sponge with gooey, coconut-pecan icing. Aziraphale ate a forkful and literally moaned.

“Do you and the cake want a moment alone?”

“Oh, hush.”

Crowley snickered. But honestly, that sinful little noise had got his brain ticking.

He’d never really thought of Aziraphale as a sensual being before. He’d figured, since the angel had no interest in sex, that carnal pleasures in general didn’t appeal to him. But that wasn’t right, was it? He might be an intellectual type, but he clearly took a great deal of pleasure in food. Maybe he’d enjoy other pleasures of the senses.

They touched each other often, these days. But it always seemed to be about feeling close to each other, rather than giving or receiving pleasure. Crowley resolved to try a few things.

He learned a lot, over the next couple of months. He learnt that Aziraphale went all shivery when Crowley ran his fingers through his hair. He learnt that the angel had a real weakness for soft fabrics, and got adorably excited when Crowley bought him a pair of fluffy socks. Then there was the time they drank an insane quantity of red wine, and Crowley found out that Aziraphale wasn’t at all opposed to skin-on-skin, under the right circumstances.

They’d shared a bed several times already, but that was the first time they ended up shirtless. Crowley ran his hands over Aziraphale’s lovely, podgy torso and told him his belly was like a heap of wheat, set about with lilies. Aziraphale purred like a hundred cats.

They really were spectacularly drunk.


	44. Parkin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parkin is a traditional northern English sponge cake. I recently made this recipe without the treacle (since I forgot to buy it) and it still turned out good - just a slightly lighter colour and flavour. 
> 
> https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/parkin

You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but Aziraphale gave an incredibly good foot rub. And he was good at it without even trying – his hands seemed to move of their own accord, while he was fully immersed in an episode of _The Great British Bake Off_.

He started rubbing Crowley’s feet when the bakers started making parkin. Gentle, at first, but firm enough not to be ticklish. Then increasing the pressure in all the right places until Crowley found it difficult to keep quiet.

By the time the bakers were adding dry ingredients to wet, Crowley was a wreck. When the first tin of parkin was in the oven, Aziraphale said absent-mindedly, “Who do you think is going to win? My money’s on … Crowley, what on earth are you doing?”

Crowley emerged from behind the cushion that he’d been pressing his face into and said “Trying not to swear.”

Aziraphale looked from Crowley’s face to his feet, then back to his face.

“Good heavens, am I hurting you?”

“No, the opposite! Can you keep going for a bit?”

“Oh. Certainly.”

Aziraphale resumed watching telly and giving Crowley’s feet the time of their life. But he couldn’t help but notice…

“Are you going to stay behind the cushion, then?”

“Mmmph.”


	45. Hidden Kisses Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for a hidden kisses cake: https://www.createdby-diane.com/2016/12/hidden-kisses-cake.html
> 
> (Though I don't know why you'd want to ruin a delicious cake with Hershey's chocolate.) 
> 
> I've never met two ace people or two aro people who feel exactly the same about kissing. We're a diverse and confusing bunch!

Crowley had politely declined Anathema’s cake, but Aziraphale had, of course, accepted a large piece. It was a solid-looking cake, covered in swirly pink icing. Aziraphale was happily tucking into it when he suddenly froze.

“Surprise!” Anathema exclaimed. “It’s a hidden kisses cake. Hershey’s kisses.”

Aziraphale looked stricken, and chewed and swallowed with obvious reluctance.

“What?” said Anathema, feigning innocence, “Don’t you like kisses?”

“Not in my mouth,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley sniggered quietly. He knew better than anyone that Aziraphale did not like Hershey’s chocolate (he said it tasted like vomit) and he did not like kissing on the mouth. They’d tried it, once, under the influence of alcohol, and it hadn’t been a success. Even though Crowley had behaved himself and hadn’t done anything weird with his tongue, the angel hadn’t been into it.

But other types of kisses were another matter. He was happy to kiss and be kissed on the cheek. When he was in a sentimental mood, he would kiss Crowley on the forehead. And sometimes, when they were curled up in front of the telly, and it was late at night and the world’s edges were blurry, he liked soft little kisses on his neck.


	46. Eccles Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a recipe for eccles cakes: https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/eccles_cakes_72475
> 
> Perfect for that relative who you're obligated to be nice to but don't actually like.

They would always be different, and they would always like different things. But these days, they made an effort to at least _try_ each other’s favourite things.

Aziraphale, for example, had no real interest in listening to _The Velvet Underground_. He’d heard it was dark, and unwholesome, and he’d never been a fan of bebop. But after listening for a while he had to admit that he’d been labouring under a misapprehension. And some of the songs – especially _Pale Blue Eyes_ – were oddly moving.

Crowley had never understood Aziraphale’s obsession with Eccles cakes. He’d always thought they looked vaguely like shaved testicles filled with squashed insects. But after trying one … nope, they were still disgusting.


	47. Chiffon Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for chiffon cake: https://tasty.co/recipe?0=%252Fchiffon-cake&slug=chiffon-cake&canonicalUrl=https%253A%252F%252Ftasty.co 
> 
> Since Crowley made such an excellent nanny, I can only imagine he'd be an excellent chaperone to society ladies as well. Somebody write this fic!

“Why do they call it chiffon cake?” Crowley asked.

He didn’t really care, but he was trying to take an interest in Aziraphale’s interests, and that obviously included cake.

“It’s because of the texture. It contains a lot of eggs, and the air beaten into the egg whites makes it light and foamy. Like chiffon.”

Crowley was a little sceptical about this, and his scepticism must have shown on his face because Aziraphale offered him a bit to prove his point. Crowley took the piece from the end of Aziraphale’s fork and rubbed it between his fingertips until it crumbled.

“Doesn’t feel anything like chiffon … What?”

“You’re wasting it! And how do you know what chiffon feels like, anyway?”

Thinking back to his days as a nanny, Crowley considered whether he had ever worn anything remotely glamorous in front of Aziraphale and realised he hadn’t. Well, the angel was in for a surprise.

He told Aziraphale all about 1929, when he’d been assigned as a chaperone to a group of debutantes. He’d had a grand old time spreading malicious gossip and general discord amongst the young society ladies (not to mention escalating a truly spectacular prank war between two of them) and he’d worn crazy amounts of pink chiffon. He’d loved those outfits, actually. You really couldn’t go wrong with a floor-length evening gown and a string of pearls, even if you had a five-o-clock shadow by the end of the ball. Aziraphale listened to Crowley reminisce, looking alarmed and charmed at different points.

Two weeks later, Crowley’s doorbell rang and he opened the door to a large, white box. Inside was a gorgeous evening dress made of shimmering purple chiffon, with a note that read “Your eyes went all shiny when you talked about the dresses and I couldn’t resist.”


	48. Unicorn Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less of a recipe and more of a "how to assemble this cake" : https://www.cakecraftworld.co.uk/news/how-to-make-a-unicorn-cake-with-a-buttercream-mane/

“Why do humans keep making cakes that look nothing like cakes?” Crowley mused.

They were looking through the window of a patisserie, at a cake that looked like a unicorn. Big, cartoon eyes, a mane of pastel-coloured icing, and of course a horn that seemed to be made from an ice cream cornet.

“It’s a work of art, Crowley,” breathed Aziraphale, clearly impressed. “It gives the experience of aesthetic pleasure, followed by gastronomic pleasure.”

“But why make beautiful things that you’re going to chew up? Why not make art that’s more permanent?”

“Perhaps the fleeting nature of it enhances its beauty. Like apple blossom on the trees in Spring. We enjoy it all the more because of its transience.”

“Well, yeah, maybe. But apple blossom doesn’t get turned into poo.”


	49. Chocolate Mug Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for microwave mug cake - the ultimate comfort food: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/microwave-mug-cake

They were walking through St James’ Park when they saw the snakes.

Two adders, curled up together inside a hollowed-out tree trunk, almost hidden from view.

“Aw, look how cosy they are,” Crowley purred. “All snuggled up together against the winter chill.”

Aziraphale looked at the snakes and had to admit that the word “cosy” didn’t immediately spring to mind. Then again, they really did look as if they were cuddling…

Aziraphale suggested they cut their walk short and go back to Crowley’s flat for a while. Once they got there, he raided Crowley’s pantry and whipped up a couple of chocolate mug cakes in the microwave. They ate them on the sofa, in front of the telly, then cuddled up under Crowley’s oh-so-stylish faux Chinchilla fur throw. Crowley was asleep in minutes, warm and heavy in Aziraphale’s arms.


	50. Plum Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like "Plumcake" should be Aziraphale's new nickname. Here's a recipe: http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/17476/easy-plum-cake.aspx

Aziraphale got very excited when he saw plum cake on a café menu. He hadn’t eaten that in … decades? Centuries? A very long time. Naturally, he ordered a slice, but was rather disappointed by it.

“They don’t make it like they used to.”

“What, like they did in the seventeenth century?” Crowley smirked unsympathetically, but then his expression softened and he looked thoughtful. “Things change, angel. Always have, always will.”

Aziraphale didn’t give the comment a second thought, but it came to mind several days later, when he was staying over at Crowley’s flat. He was already half-asleep, and enjoying being spooned and snuggled in the way you can only enjoy things when semi-conscious. A purely physical pleasure, without any particular thought or emotion attached to it.

“You awake?” Crowley whispered.

“Mmmmmsort-of.”

“I have a question.”

“Ask away, dear boy.”

“Would you still love me if I were a snake?”

Well, that woke him up. Aziraphale wriggled around to face Crowley and said, “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

“No. I’m not planning on changing back or anything. I was just thinking about things changing, and I suppose I’ve changed a lot over the years. What if I change into something you don’t…”

“Anthony Crowley, you are being very silly, bordering on the absurd,” said Aziraphale, knowing that Crowley found it comforting to be scolded. “I shall love you however you change and whatever form you take. Including the form of a serpent.”

“I’d be less cuddly.”

“I’d wear you around my neck like a scarf.”


	51. Earl Grey Tea Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for Earl Grey Tea Cake: https://www.notquitenigella.com/2016/02/23/earl-grey-london-fog-cake/
> 
> Now, I can headcanon pretty much any character as ace-spec (it's my superpower, haha) but grey-ace Newt was particularly easy for some reason.

“Newt, I didn’t know you could bake!” Aziraphale exclaimed in delight.

“I’m still a beginner,” said Newt bashfully. “I had a few mishaps, but it turns out that if I get rid of electric whisks and food processors and just use a bowl and a wooden spoon, I’m not completely terrible at it.”

“You’re selling yourself short. This is delicious, you can really taste the earl grey.”

“It’s my friend Lucy’s recipe. And Anathema helped a bit.”

“Don’t give him compliments, angel, he doesn’t know what to do with them,” Crowley teased. “Which one’s Lucy? Did we meet her on your birthday?”

“Yep. The redhead, remember? She fancied you.”

“Of course she did.”

“But I told her you weren’t looking for a girlfriend.”

“That didn’t exactly put her off, though, did it?” Anathema interjected.

“No, not exactly,” Newt mumbled. “Lucy’s kind of… fun-loving.”

Crowley, to his own mild surprise, was interested. He wasn’t exactly fun-averse himself, and it had been ages since he’d had that particular kind of fun. Blimey, he hadn’t been with a woman since the seventies.

For some reason, he felt the need to check how Aziraphale felt before pursuing this any further. The tactful thing to do would be to wait until they were alone and bring the issue up slowly and carefully. Then again…

“Aziraphale, cupcake, love of my life, hypothetically speaking, would you be cross with me if I shagged Newt’s friend?”

“Why on earth would I be cross? You can copulate with whomever you like.”

“Great. Newt, can I have Lucy’s number?”

In lieu of an answer, Newt opened and closed his mouth a few times and blushed violently. “Um, I thought you were … y’know, I thought you were both … asexual.”

“Yep.”

“So why would you have sex with Lucy? Or anyone.”

At this point, Anathema decided it was time to put the plates in the dishwasher, and Aziraphale offered to help. Newt stared at them in despair as they left, as if he had been abandoned by his fellow soldiers on a battlefield. Crowley took pity on him and decided to be gentle.

“Mate, do you know what asexual means?”

“Just sort of non-sexual?”

“Lack of sexual attraction. It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy sex. Like how some straight women can enjoy sex with other women. Even without attraction, the sex can still be fun.”

Oh dear. Newt looked like he was about to burst into flames. Talking about women having sex with women probably wasn’t helpful.

“Do all asexual people…?”

“No. Some really don’t enjoy sex, or aren’t interested in it at all.”

“So it’s like, everyone’s different?”

“Yeah. It’s a spectrum.”

“Oh,” said Newt. Then, several seconds later, “I think I might be on it.”

Wine. This conversation required wine. He topped up his own glass, then Newt’s, and then he waited. He waited a long time, but eventually…

“Anathema was my first. I was twenty-six.”

“Did you want to have sex with anyone before her?”

“Rarely. There was this girl in my chess club, when I was seventeen. I definitely thought about her in a … in a sexy way. But then, nobody else until uni. It happened every couple of years, I suppose. Being attracted to someone like that. The feelings just weren’t strong enough to act on. Even with Anathema, I like having a sex life but I don’t think I’d be all that bothered if we didn’t have one.”

Newt drained his wine glass, and Crowley refilled it immediately. “Grey-asexual,” he said.

“What?”

“Low or infrequent sexual attraction. Humans call it grey-asexual.”

“I’m a human.”

“Well, then.”

“So, what do I do now? Do I have to tell Anathema, or research it, or what?”

“I dunno, do whatever you want.”

Apparently, what Newt wanted was to cut himself another slice of cake, stuff his face with it and look both panicky and relieved at the same time.

“I always thought I was just weird.”

“Don’t worry, you still are,” said Crowley, cheerfully. “Nothing’s gonna change that.” 


	52. Coffee and Walnut Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for a coffee and walnut cake with an extra luxurious creamy filling: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/coffee-walnut-cake 
> 
> In this chapter, Aziraphale lays Crowley down in front of the fireplace and ... puts more clothes on him. Ace-ing up all the sexy tropes because I can!

The storm arrived suddenly. There was a crash of thunder so loud, it sounded as if the night sky had split right down the middle. Then all the water in the heavens seemed to pour down at once.

Crowley arrived just as suddenly as the storm, banging on the door of Aziraphale’s bookshop hard enough to make the doorframe quiver. Aziraphale opened the door and found him absolutely drenched. No wonder, since he wasn’t wearing anything remotely waterproof.

“Got … caught,” Crowley slurred.

Aziraphale thought, for a moment, that he was drunk. But then he realised the poor dear was hypothermic. This happened occasionally – something to do with being part-serpent. If he dressed properly, he could withstand fairly chilly weather. But a sudden, unexpected dousing in cold water did him no favours at all.

“Come and sit by the fire, dear boy,” said Aziraphale, guiding Crowley to the back of the bookshop and sitting him down in front of the hearth. “Now, take those wet things off and I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

Crowley nodded sluggishly, and Aziraphale hurried off to find something suitable. By the time he returned with a bath towel and a pair of tartan pyjamas (which were the wrong size for Crowley, but at least they were warm) Crowley had discarded his trousers but was still struggling ineffectually with his shirt buttons.

“They’re frozen,” said Crowley, giving his hands a glazed, but very irritated look.

“Not to worry,” said Aziraphale, adopting the bright but no-nonsense tone of a pleasant school matron.

He undid the buttons and slipped Crowley’s shirt off his shoulders, then quickly wrapped the towel around him. He was all set to help Crowley dry himself, but apparently Crowley had other ideas. His arms slipped out from under the towel and snaked around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling the angel into his lap.

“Mmm, ssswarm,” Crowley said into Aziraphale’s chest, and Aziraphale quickly understood that his demon was helping himself to a little extra body heat.

Aziraphale didn’t begrudge him that under the circumstances, so he held Crowley close and still for a long moment. Then he gently untangled himself and set to work getting Crowley dry and dressed.

By the time he’d finished buttoning up the pyjama top, Crowley had recovered enough to towel-dry his own hair. He was still moving and speaking clumsily though, and Aziraphale had an idea. Now that he’d warmed Crowley from the outside in, he really ought to warm him from the inside out.

He went to the bookshop’s small but well-equipped kitchen and made a mug of coffee. Hopefully its heat, combined with its caffeine, would perk Crowley up. For a little extra caffeine, he cut Crowley a slice of coffee and walnut cake. It was nothing special – just a cheap and cheerful little cake from Morrisons – but Crowley devoured it greedily, along with the mug of coffee.

“Y’know, I was only coming over to see if you had a copy of _Paradise Lost_ ,” said Crowley, swallowing the last morsel of cake. “Then things got a bit intense, with the weather.”

“It’s all right, dear,” said Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around Crowley as the demon snuggled up against him and sipped his coffee.

Aziraphale suspected they wouldn’t be moving away from the fire for quite some time.


	53. Ice Cream Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This recipe for ice cream cake uses a Betty Crocker mix, but who cares if it's cheating when it looks that tasty? https://www.bettycrocker.com/recipes/mint-chocolate-ice-cream-cake/6c3a82ea-b6cd-4ae7-a0cb-4faa239abdf8

If Crowley struggled with the cold, Aziraphale struggled with the heat. Particularly since, unlike Crowley, he had particular notions about “proper” clothing, and refused to go about partially dressed.

Still, hot weather did have its saving graces. Like the smell of sun cream and freshly-cut grass, and the way it put everyone in a good mood. And ice cream cake, which seemed like a combination of two of humanity’s finest creations.


	54. French Apple Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for French apple cake with a cheeky splash of rum: https://www.onceuponachef.com/recipes/french-apple-cake.html#tabbox

Aziraphale liked apples. He liked them on their own, and he liked them even more in a French apple cake. They were sweet and crisp and delicious, and it was really no wonder Eve hadn’t been able to resist.

“Do you ever wonder what the world would be like, if she hadn’t eaten the apple?” he asked Crowley.

And even though they were far away from The Garden in both space and time (they were in a restaurant in Kent) Crowley knew what he was talking about straight away.

“A lot better, I’m sure. Give humans a little knowledge and they turn it into guns and pesticides and email spam.”

“Oh that’s too harsh, dear boy. What about life-saving vaccines? What about great novels and music and art?”

“Humans only use knowledge for their own benefit. They’ve got one planet to look after and they’ve completely trashed it. Already.”

“And yet it was still worth saving, wasn’t it?”

Crowley’s upper lip curled in the way it always did when Aziraphale used underhand tactics to win an argument. Half annoyed, half amused. He scooped up the last morsel of Aziraphale’s French apple cake with his fingers, and ate it.


	55. Chocolate Brownie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triple chocolate brownie, anyone? https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/best-ever-chocolate-brownies-recipe

Aziraphale had his first nightmare on a worn old sofa at the back of the bookshop. The content of the nightmare melted away almost as soon as he woke – heart hammering, cold sweat on his forehead – but the fear lingered.

He strongly suspected that the way to get rid of it would be to talk to Crowley. To see him, if he could. This was new. Aziraphale had certainly enjoyed the closeness between them, and had often sought it out. But wanting something was different to needing it, and this felt suspiciously like need.

He eyed the telephone with animosity, suspecting that Crowley would be sleeping. Or busy. Or appalled that any being as old as Aziraphale would require comfort after a nightmare, like a small child.

When he finally plucked up the courage to call Crowley, none of these fears were realised. Instead, they arranged to meet at the eighteen-hour café near the bookshop.

It was the type of café that Crowley referred to as a “greasy spoon”, but they sold excellent chocolate brownies. Aziraphale bought one of these, along with a mug of strong, milky tea, and Crowley bought coffee.

“Do you remember what it was about?” Crowley asked gently.

“Not really. But … I think you were in it. And then you weren’t.”

“Something bad happened to me?”

“Yes, I think so.”

It was only at this moment that Aziraphale realised why he’d needed to see Crowley so badly. Of course he knew that dreams had no impact on the real world. He had just wanted to reassure himself.

“I’m not going anywhere, angel. Understand? You’re stuck with me.”

Crowley reached across the small table for Aziraphale’s hand, and took it, entwining their fingers together. Aziraphale smiled in relief.


	56. White Chocolate Blondie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't have brownies and ignore the blondies, so here's a blondie recipe: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/white-chocolate-blondies

Aziraphale was reading a book about astronomy. It was such an excellent book that he went out and bought a second-hand telescope, quite without meaning to.

He began to look forward eagerly to testing it out. He would take it Regents Park (one of the few places in London where the light pollution wasn’t too atrocious), along with a picnic blanket, a thermos of tea and one or two white chocolate blondies. And Crowley, of course, if he could convince him.

Crowley didn’t take much convincing. He liked stars. Understood them in a way that couldn’t be learnt from a book. He didn’t have a clue how to work a telescope of course, but Aziraphale took care of that part.

They had been stargazing (Crowley called it “stargazing” instead of “astronomy”, and Aziraphale found that rather poetic and lovely) for almost an hour when they saw the fox.

It skulked around the trunk of a tree, its ruddy fur muted in the darkness. Aziraphale clutched at Crowley’s sleeve and gestured frantically, thinking it would slip away into the shadows at any moment.

But it stayed, with the characteristic boldness of so many urban creatures. As it sniffed around, Aziraphale thought to offer a piece of blondie. But Crowley said that, while that might seem like the polite thing to do, it was probably a bad idea because chocolate was poisonous to dogs. This led to a whispered argument about 1) whether or not foxes were essentially dogs, and 2) whether or not white chocolate was technically chocolate.

Eventually, they stopped arguing. They sat, very quiet and still and close together, and watched something that was utterly mundane, yet somehow more magical than a sky full of stars.


	57. Spotted Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for spotted dick: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/spotted-dick
> 
> A traditional British favourite and a national joke for obvious reasons.

“How’s your spotted dick, angel?”

“Delicious, thank you. Would you like some?”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood. But you enjoy.”

“I shall.”

“It’s pretty big. Are you going to be able to manage all of it?”

“Oh, certainly.”

“Looks like a good one.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I bet. It looks, err… firm. Well-risen.”

“What are you grinning about?”

“…”

“What are you laughing at?”


	58. Boob Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to any awkward aces who've ever bumbled their way through the overly-sexualised environment of a hen do or stag do. I hope you at least got a slice of cake!

Newt was marrying Anathema, which was fantastic.

Newt was having a stag do, which was expected.

Newt had invited both Crowley and Aziraphale to the stag do, which was … interesting.

To be fair, it had all been okay so far. The paintballing had been a laugh (at Aziraphale’s insistence, the paintballs had remained paintballs and not been turned into actual bullets or rotten eggs or frogs or anything else) and then they’d had a slap-up steak dinner at a cosy pub.

As everyone started drinking, though, the banter at the table got bluer and bluer. Aziraphale made an effort to join in at first, but was spectacularly bad at telling dirty jokes because he kept forgetting the punchlines. As time went on, he started to look distinctly uncomfortable. And as Newt’s friends began to leave him out of the conversation, he started to look a bit miserable. And that made Crowley a bit miserable

The group moved from a cosy pub to a very uncosy bar, and the drinking began in earnest. Crowley hoped there wouldn’t be any strippers, because if Aziraphale had to sit through a lap dance, there was a good chance it would scar him for life.

A woman in a backless silver dress and crazily high heels sashayed past, holding a tray of shots. Crowley watched, open-mouthed, as Aziraphale helped himself to a shot and downed it like a student on fresher’s week. Then he gave Crowley a solemn look and said something that he couldn’t hear over the din of the bar.

“What?”

“I said I wish I could hold you right now.”

Something twisted inside Crowley, in a way that was pleasant and painful at the same time. It really shouldn’t be a big deal. All over the bar, there were people making out in corners and grinding against each other on the dancefloor. Where was the harm in a little cuddle?

Crowley knew exactly where the harm was. Aziraphale would nuzzle into Crowley’s neck, and close his eyes in contentment. Then Newt’s friends would start hooting and hollering and tell them to get a room and make dirty jokes. Crowley, frankly, wouldn’t give a fuck. But Aziraphale would very much give a fuck.

“Crowley! Azi!” Newt’s voice rang across the bar, and Crowley knew he was completely bladdered because he’d called Aziraphale “Azi”. “Get over here, we’ve got cake!”

Aziraphale perked up instantly. The two of them made their way through the crowded bar, over to a table where Newt’s mates were ogling the cake. And “ogling” was definitely the right word, because the cake looked like a pair of tits.

Now, Crowley could appreciate a fine pair of cake tits, and these were great. They had caramel-coloured icing, possibly as a nod to Anathema’s skin tone (though they were considerably larger than Anathema’s) and had chocolate buttons for nipples. The buttons peeked out of a rather redundant black icing bra.

Despite all the hilarity over the boob cake, no one seemed to want to cut it into slices. Newt’s friend Rupert offered to do the honours but then had a moment of squeamishness and changed his mind, saying he felt like a plastic surgeon. He offered the knife around, then set his sights on Aziraphale.

“Go on Azi, get stuck in!”

“Erm, I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Go on, you know you want to!”

A few more of Newt’s friends joined in, insisting that “Azi” had to cut the boob cake. Their voices were loud and jeering and insistent, and Aziraphale looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Crowley had to put an end to it.

He sidled up to Newt and snatched his glasses off. Then, before Newt could ask what the hell he was doing, he pushed Newt’s face right into the boob cake.

Newt’s mates all cheered uproariously, and clapped him on the back as he re-emerged, face covered in cake. Many jokes about motorboating were made. Aziraphale was forgotten. He mouthed “Thank you” at Crowley, and Crowley smiled and shrugged.


	59. Fruitcake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most glamorous cake, but at least it has magical powers and can predict who you're going to marry... https://everydaycooks.co.uk/everyday-fruit-cake/

Inevitably, Aziraphale and Crowley both received invitations to Anathema’s hen do. Aziraphale accepted the invitation out of a sense of duty and Crowley said yes out of curiosity.

Aziraphale had to admit that he enjoyed it rather more than the stag do. They spent the day at a spa (Aziraphale definitely preferred spa treatments to getting hit with paintballs) then went back to Anathema’s cottage for a sleepover with her friends.

They watched _Bridesmaids_ , drank gallons of prosecco, and nobody put Aziraphale under any pressure to drink out of one of those straws shaped like a penis, which he appreciated. In fact, he felt so comfortable around Anathema’s friends that he ended up overdoing it on the prosecco and getting embarrassingly sloshed.

“Crowley, d’you remember the seventeenth century?” he asked earnestly.

“Parts of it.”

“D’you remember fruitcakes under pillows?”

“What?”

“Fruitcakes under pillows! To dream of the man you’re going to marry.”

Anathema’s friend Nicole giggled tipsily, but Anathema looked intrigued.

“Was that a real thing?”

“Oh yes, certainly.”

“Did it work?”

“I don’t know. Do you have any fruitcake?”

That was how Aziraphale, Crowley, Anathema and her friends ended up in a Tesco Express just before closing time, trying not to look too obviously drunk, and buying a large fruitcake. Back at the cottage, they cut it up into thin slivers, some of which were eaten and some of which were wrapped in tin foil and placed underneath pillows.

Aziraphale slept soundly, on a makeshift bed of cushions on the floor of Anathema’s bedroom. He woke up to a slight hangover, and the warm, wonderful feeling of Crowley’s body against his. It wasn’t the first time he’d fallen asleep in Crowley’s arms, but it was the first time he’d woken up there. And it really was a lovely place to wake up.

“Morning, sleepyheads.”

Anathema’s face appeared above him and Aziraphale smiled up at her. “Good morning. Dare I asked who you dreamt of last night?”

“Newt. But we were both trapped inside the belly of a giant bird, so I’m not so sure it’s a good omen.”

“I didn’t dream of anyone,” Nicole grumbled, sitting up in Anathema’s bed and stretching.

“I dreamt of Mila Kunis,” said Anathema’s friend Felicity, from the air mattress at the foot of the bed.

“Niiiiiiice!” Nicole exclaimed. “I’m totally jealous and I’m not even into women.”

There was much giggling, and then much complaining about hangovers. Aziraphale nestled closer to Crowley so he wouldn’t be overheard when he asked Crowley if he’d dreamed of anyone. Crowley sometimes got uncomfortable when things were unavoidably romantic, and marriage was about as unavoidably romantic as it got.

“So, did you…?”

“I dreamt I was eating a brick. How ‘bout you, angel?”

“Didn’t dream at all.”

“We should take the fruitcake back to Tesco and get a refund. Bloody thing’s defective.”

Aziraphale laughed. Then, on impulse, he kissed Crowley on the nose and said “It’s nice waking up with you.”

“Thanks. Maybe we should make a habit of it.”


	60. Wedding Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since a wedding cake can be pretty much anything you want it to be, here's a recipe for the lavender macarons instead: https://asideofsweet.com/lavender-macarons-buttercream-filling/
> 
> They're gluten-free :)

Anathema and Newt’s wedding was beautiful. Their wedding cake, in particular, was spectacular. A towering creation decorated with purple flowers made of fudgy icing, and a ring of lighter-than-air, lavender coloured macarons at the base of each tier.

Crowley sat beside Aziraphale at their almost-empty table, while Aziraphale finished his cake. The dancefloor was full of couples swaying to the Arctic Monkey’s version of _Baby I’m Yours_.

“Someone has good taste in music,” said Crowley. “Anathema, I reckon. Newt basically only listens to Ed Sheeran.”

“Someone has excellent taste in cake, too,” said Aziraphale. “You know, these macarons do actually taste faintly of lavender.”

Crowley had already drank a fair amount of champagne, so he didn’t bother to phrase his question carefully.

“D’you think you’d ever want to get married?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought. I suppose it would be nice to have a big gathering of friends, with a special cake. But the idea of having to kiss on the mouth in front of a crowd of people … Why would anyone want to do that?”

Crowley snickered. That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant by the question. Then again, he wasn’t sure what exactly he’d meant.

“Come on angel, let’s go dance.”

“You know I can’t dance. Not unless it’s the gavotte.”

“It’s a slow dance. Basically just a hug with a bit of footwork.”

Once Aziraphale had mastered the minimal footwork of slow dancing, he rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“I suppose another nice thing about weddings is that you get to go on a honeymoon afterwards,” he said absent-mindedly.

“Mm. Any excuse for a holiday.”

“If you could go anywhere on Earth for a honeymoon, where would you go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think the fact that they're not married is going to stop our boys going on a honeymoon...


	61. Jamaican Rum Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for Jamaican rum cake: http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/6585/janet-s-jamaican-rum-cake.aspx

Damn, it was good to be somewhere warm. Crowley stretched out on the sun lounger and soaked up the sunshine blissfully.

Though, he was a tiny bit worried that Aziraphale was getting too much sun. Or too much of something else.

“Y’know what goes really well with Jamaican rum cake?” the angel slurred. “Jamaican rum! Jamaican rum goes perfectly with Jamaican rum cake.”

Then he fell off his sun lounger, spilling Jamaican rum cake and Jamaican rum all over the sand.


	62. Chocolate Traybake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for chocolate traybake: https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/chocolate_tray_bake_with_69567
> 
> And here's a long-overdue conversation...

The Conversation happened in Debenhams, of all places. Aziraphale was halfway through a piece of chocolate traybake when he made a sudden, urgent realisation.

“I never asked how _you_ feel about marriage.”

Crowley – eyes unreadable behind his sunglasses – gave Aziraphale a long pause and a confused “Eh?”

“At Newt and Anathema’s wedding you asked me if I’d ever want to get married, and I neglected to ask you the same question.”

“Oh. Um … Maybe if a very rich, very old lady or gentleman was looking for a husband. Seems like a sound financial investment.”

Aziraphale scoffed disapprovingly and Crowley said, with no small amount of bite in his voice, “What? You were only interested in having a party and a cake. So don’t act like you’re Mr Wholesome, defender-of-the-sanctity-of-marriage.”

There was a long, slightly painful silence. Aziraphale broke it, in a gentle voice.

“It isn’t designed for us, dear boy. ‘Til death do us part? Marriage has an endpoint that we won’t … that neither of us will ever reach.”

“Yeah. Humans have such small forevers.”

Aziraphale looked around the Debenhams cafe, at all the humans living out their small forevers. Many of them were in pairs or little groups. Talking, laughing, sharing food and stories. It never ceased to amaze him, how much love they could cram into a few short decades. There was something greedy about it. Greedy and glorious.

He felt suddenly greedy himself, in a way that had nothing to do with his chocolate traybake. He turned back to Crowley and grabbed his hand. The words tumbled out, impulsive and thoughtless and very true.

“Crowley, I want us to know each other forever. I’m not saying I want us to be exactly as we are now forever, but if, in a thousand years or so, I had no idea where you were or how you were doing or who you’d become … I think it would kill me. Metaphorically.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale’s hand a squeeze. “It wouldn’t do me any favours either. Friends forever, then?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good.”


	63. Strawberry Sparkle Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for strawberry sparkle cake: https://foodnetwork.co.uk/recipes/strawberry-sparkle-cake/?utm_source=foodnetwork.com&utm_medium=domestic
> 
> Crowley may finally be changing his mind about birthdays...

The waiter was under strict instructions not to sing _Happy Birthday._ Aziraphale didn’t quite trust him, as he looked like the type to break into song without a moment’s warning. Fortunately, he made it to the table with nothing more than an amused smirk, deposited the cake, and disappeared again.

Crowley looked at the large slice of cake in front of him, which was filled with strawberry jelly, smothered in snow-white icing, and topped with a sparkler. Aziraphale watched the sparks fly around, reflected in Crowley’s sunglasses.

“My favourite cake,” said Crowley, quietly.

“You mean a cake that’s actually a firework?”

Crowley shrugged and smiled and didn’t deny it, because they both knew how much he liked anything that sparkled and smelled of gunpowder and was beautiful and noisy.

“Happy birthday, dear boy,” said Aziraphale.

And Crowley, who wasn’t a birthday person, actually said thank you, and shared the cake with Aziraphale.


	64. Dundee Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dundee cake is a traditional Scottish fruitcake with cherries and almonds: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/dundee-cake

They sat on a bench, on Brighton seafront. Aziraphale was enjoying a slice of Dundee cake (brought from home, wrapped up reverently in one of those beeswax wraps) when Crowley nodded at the expanse of ocean in front of them and said “We should go on a voyage.”

“A voyage?’

“Yeah. Catch a ship, spend a few weeks at sea. Sail halfway around the world.”

“People don’t do that anymore, dear. They have planes.”

Crowley made a disgruntled noise.

“Besides, don’t you remember what voyages used to be like? Those tiny, crowded cabins. The seasickness, the _smell_.”

Crowley made an even more disgruntled noise and said, “A man can crave adventures, angel, even if adventures turn out to be overrated.”

It was so painfully human, to be nostalgic for something that never really existed. To long for it with all one’s heart. But if he and Crowley made fun of each other every time they acted like humans, they’d be making fun of each other all the time. It happened a lot, these days.

So Aziraphale patted Crowley’s knee comfortingly and promised him that there were adventures ahead. Plenty of them. As many as he could handle.


	65. Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for buttermilk pancakes if you want to try making them from scratch: https://www.momontimeout.com/best-fluffy-buttermilk-pancakes/

They really were getting far too accustomed to living like humans. For example, when a boozy night out with Newt and Anathema resulted in ferocious hangovers for them both, they tried to fix them with hangover food.

They were halfway through their fluffy, American-style pancakes (with bananas for potassium and honey for deliciousness) when Crowley remembered they could have just miracled the alcohol out of their systems. At this point, Crowley got rid of his own hangover, but Aziraphale kept his as a reminder to drink more responsibly. Crowley thought this was a daft and masochistic idea, but he gave Aziraphale half his pancakes nonetheless.


	66. Dark Heart Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No recipe for this cake, as I've just invented it.

Aziraphale woke up in Crowley’s bed, which wasn’t an unusual occurrence these days. What _was_ unusual was the sight of Crowley standing in front of his bedroom mirror, wearing Aziraphale’s clothes.

They looked ludicrous on him. They were oversized, of course, but also about as far away from his usual style as it was possible to get. And certainly not his usual colour scheme, which was various shades of black. Why on earth would he…?

The cake. Aziraphale blamed the cake they’d eaten yesterday, at that odd little café that smelled of incense (not the church kind of incense, but the kind Anathema liked). It was called “Dark heart cake” and it lived up to its name. The outside looked like a cake for a child’s birthday party. Fluffy vanilla icing, decorated with pastel-coloured sprinkles. But the sponge inside was so dark it was almost black, flavoured with deliciously bitter coffee and dark chocolate. Yes, that was what Crowley reminded him of right now. Light on the outside, dark on the inside and strangely charming all the way through.

“You look absurd,” said Aziraphale, propping himself up with a pillow.

“What’s the big deal?” said Crowley, still preening in the mirror and obviously unconcerned with how absurd he looked. “We’ve swapped _skins_ before, remember? Swapping clothes really shouldn’t be an issue.”

Aziraphale blushed at the memory. It had been a means to an end, of course, but to inhabit someone else’s body was an inescapably intimate thing. He’d felt a good deal closer to Crowley afterwards, though he’d never mentioned it and never asked Crowley if he’d felt the same way.

“Well, you can wear them if you want I suppose. But you’re not going outside dressed like that are you?”

“Nope. I’m staying inside dressed like this.”

And with that, Crowley flopped dramatically onto the bed in what was the clearest invitation to cuddle Aziraphale had ever seen. Happy to oblige, Aziraphale pulled him in close and cupped the back of his head, stroking his hair. Crowley hummed with pleasure at the sensation for a minute or two, then insisted on getting back under the covers so they could snuggle without the duvet getting in the way.

Aziraphale – concerned that his clothes would wrinkle but also, perhaps, wanting to get rid of another unnecessary layer between Crowley and himself – unbuttoned his own waistcoat and gently removed it from the demon. He tossed the waistcoat to the floor, where it miraculously folded itself, and slid a hand up the back of his own shirt. Crowley’s skin was soft and cool, and this sort of hands-under-clothes business was a rare enough occurrence for it to still feel like a novelty. He ran his fingertips up and down Crowley’s back.

“Crowley, dear, can I ask you something?”

“Ask me anything, angel, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Do you remember when we … when we swapped bodies?”

“Course I do.”

“I was just wondering … I mean, obviously there was a purpose to it, but I couldn’t help but wonder … how did it feel, for you?”

Crowley was silent. Whenever Crowley went quiet, Aziraphale tended to overcompensate by talking too much, and this instance was no exception. He began babbling away like his life depended on it.

“It probably didn’t feel like anything, you were probably focussed on the task at hand and that’s completely fine, completely understandable, it was just a passing notion-”

“Hold on, hold on,” Crowley protested. “I was just looking for the right words. It felt strange, but in a good way.”

“You liked it?”

“I did. It was the only time I’ve had proper curves, so that was nice.” Crowley squeezed the flesh of Aziraphale’s hip and Aziraphale blushed. It was a pleased sort of blush.

“And this is going to sound awkward, but it’s nice to be inside someone so completely. To see the world through their eyes, feel it through their skin. Your skin. Honestly, it helped me understand why humans get all weird and emotional about sex. It’s like they’re trying to get right inside the person they love.”

“You think so?”

“Or maybe they just get really emotional about having their genitals touched, I dunno. Humans are odd.”

They lay together in silence for a while, but now that the idea was lodged in Aziraphale’s mind, it wasn’t going anywhere. He gathered his courage and asked, very quietly,

“Can we do it again? Just for a few minutes.”

In answer, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and clasped it firmly. And just like that, the switch began. Aziraphale could feel all his generous flesh being handed over to Crowley like a gift. And he took Crowley’s angular body and settled into it like it was cool, clear water on a hot day.

When the switch was complete, and he was wearing Crowley’s skin and his own shirt, he took control of Crowley’s limbs and wrapped them decisively around his own form. He felt quite overwhelmed with love. Love for his own body, his own silly, imperfect, wonderful self. And love for Crowley. For the eerily beautiful eyes he was looking through. For the dark, golden, utterly unique heart that he could feel beating inside him.


	67. Ciambella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciambella is an Italian breakfast cake, so it's not too sweet and goes very nicely with coffee. Here's a recipe: https://theviewfromgreatisland.com/lemon-yogurt-breakfast-cake-ciambella/
> 
> And here is a chapter in which an old episode of Doctor Who causes some confusion...

Aziraphale usually spent Friday nights at Crowley’s flat, which meant he usually spent Saturday mornings at Crowley’s flat. Sometimes it turned into a whole weekend together and sometimes it didn’t. Either way, Saturday mornings were a particularly pleasant part of the week because Crowley (who couldn’t cook at all) somehow always had something delicious for breakfast.

The angel was eating a slice of ciambella in front of the telly, when he noticed something rather odd.

“Crowley, look at this!” he called.

Crowley emerged from the kitchen with a cup of espresso and looked at the telly, where Aziraphale was frantically gesturing.

“What? It’s just an old _Doctor Who_ re-run.”

“Yes, but … don’t you think that fellow looks remarkably similar to you? Almost identical!”

“What? Nah. He looks younger, and his eyes are different and his hair’s a much more boring colour.”

With that, Crowley disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Aziraphale to reflect on Crowley’s seemingly never-ending supply of secrets.


	68. Prinzregententorte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for prinzregententorte (or German chocolate layer cake if you can't pronounce that): https://www.theomaway.com/baking/german-chocolate-layer-cake/
> 
> And here's some wintery fluff...

Things Aziraphale liked about the Winter Wonderland fair in Hyde Park:

  * Getting a slice of prinzregententorte from a Bavarian food stall
  * The festive atmosphere
  * The craft stalls
  * Riding the Ferris wheel, and the glorious view from the top



Things Crowley liked about the Winter Wonderland fair:

  * Those stalls with guns, where you had to shoot targets to win prizes
  * The ghost train
  * The Munich Looping rollercoaster
  * Riding the Ferris wheel, and the look on Aziraphale’s face when they reached the top




	69. Stollen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for stollen (a Christmas classic): https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/stollen_27553 
> 
> And some more wintery fluff...

It was the cheesiest thing Crowley had ever seen. The cheery red tin had a picture of a little cartoon boy kissing a little cartoon girl on the cheek, under a sprig of mistletoe. The little cartoon girl had a speech bubble coming out of her mouth, and it read “You’ve STOLLEN my heart.” Because, of course, the tin was full of stollen – that fruity German bread, all covered in powdered sugar.

Obviously, he bought it for Aziraphale.


	70. Magic Bee Sting Custard Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for this weirdly-named cake: https://myfoodbook.com.au/recipes/show/magic-beesting-custard-cake

“What did you say it was called?” asked Aziraphale.

“Magic bee sting custard cake” said Anathema, smiling proudly at the remains of the homemade dessert.

“And did you employ any actual magic to make it?”

“Nope, just really good honey. Oh, and the milk has to be lukewarm when you add it to the batter.”

“You should go on _Come Dine With Me_ ,” said Crowley. “You’d definitely win.”

Newt laughed, and Anathema said that was a recipe for disaster, no pun intended.

Crowley had only meant it as a sort of half-joking compliment, but Aziraphale, for whatever reason, thought it was an excellent idea. He began to talk about Anathema’s cooking in such glowing terms that, by the time he and Crowley left, Anathema was filling in the online application form to appear on the show and Newt was already worrying that some Hollywood hunk would steal her away when she became a famous TV chef.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only ten more chapters to go! I can't believe how long I've been writing this fic for.


	71. Shrewsbury Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A recipe for Shrewsbury cakes - an Elizabethan treat: https://atasteofthepast.wordpress.com/2014/11/01/shrewsbury-cakes/

They had tickets for an amateur production of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ , and Aziraphale found himself feeling rather nostalgic for Elizabethan days. So, as an alternative to buying one of those miniscule pots of ice-cream during the interval, he cooked a batch of Shrewsbury cakes (or, at least, a rough approximation of them) and brought a few to the theatre, discreetly concealed inside his waistcoat. They were not very good and Aziraphale got crumbs everywhere, but he was enjoying the play too much to care.

At some point, he noticed that Crowley seemed to be mouthing every one of Puck’s lines. He gave the demon a quizzical look, which was returned with a sheepish one.

“He’s my favourite,” Crowley admitted in a whisper, “So I decided to learn all his lines.”

“When?”

“Some time in the late seventeenth century. I was bored.”

Aziraphale smiled, feeling utterly charmed. It was jolly nice that Crowley could still surprise him after all these centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Crowley would relate to Puck. They have the same mischievous streak!


	72. Chocolate Guinness Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this recipe makes a chocolate Guinness cake that is "magnificent in its damp blackness": https://www.nigella.com/recipes/chocolate-guinness-cake

It was St Patrick’s day, which meant chocolate Guinness cake for Aziraphale, and several pints of Guinness for Crowley.

“Y’know, I met a leprechaun once,” Crowley slurred, gesturing at a young man at the bar wearing a violently green hat and a fake ginger beard. “Didn’t wear a hat or give me three wishes or anything. Actually, he challenged me to a fight. Nasty bloke.”

“How much of that have you had?” said Aziraphale, looking sceptically at the Guinness.

“It’s true!” Crowley insisted, slamming his pint down on the table so that the foamy liquid sloshed all over his hand.

Half an hour later, Crowley was an absolute mess and Aziraphale took it upon himself to escort the poor boy home.

“I don’t wanna go home!” Crowley complained, leaning heavily against Aziraphale. “I wanna go clubbing!”

“Honestly, dear boy, you can’t even walk straight. What makes you think you’re sober enough to dance?”

“I’m sober enough to do shots with strangers.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Despite Crowley’s less than helpful attitude, Aziraphale succeeded in getting him home and into his bedroom. Crowley flopped onto his bed, closed his eyes and looked, momentarily, very peaceful.

“He wasn’t such a bad bloke, actually,” Crowley murmured.

“Hm?”

“The leprechaun. We ended up drinking together, instead of fighting. He even taught me a couple of songs. Old Irish ones.”

“Did he?”

Aziraphale was stroking Crowley’s hair now, trying to soothe him to sleep. But Crowley had other ideas. He pulled Aziraphale down beside him, said “I still remember the words to _Fáinleog_ ,” and began to sing.

Aziraphale had heard a little of that language, long ago. But he had lost the meaning of the words, and now it was like birdsong – a series of exquisitely beautiful sounds that he couldn’t hope to understand. He rested his head against the pillow and listened to Crowley’s drowsy voice. He closed his eyes, just for a moment.

A moment later, he woke up. Crowley’s bedroom was flooded with sunshine, and Crowley was nowhere to be seen. Feeling disorientated, Aziraphale forced himself off the bed and went to look for Crowley, or a cup of tea.

He found the demon on the sofa in the living room, snoring softly and looking extremely dishevelled. He was also wearing one of those obnoxious hats and a pair of green sunglasses shaped like shamrocks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The leprechaun Crowley met is totally Mad Sweeney from American Gods (because I love a crossover).
> 
> If you were wondering what "Fainleog" sounds like... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDWOQ1fd-Hs


	73. Lemon Sherbet Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for lemon sherbet cake: https://www.sainsburysmagazine.co.uk/recipes/cakes/lemon-sherbet-cake
> 
> And here's a brief, long-overdue appearance by The Them.

It shouldn’t have come as such a shock. They were in the area. Just one village over from Tadfield, in fact.

But he really didn’t expect to be sitting in a café with Crowley, halfway through a slice of lemon sherbet cake (he’d been sceptical about the marshmallow fluff icing, but it had won him round) and then to be confronted with the antichrist.

Adam stood in the doorway with a skateboard tucked under his arm. He’d grown older and taller and a little bit spottier, but it was definitely him.

He was with the same gang. The girl, with her hair now in braids right down to her waist. The boy with the glasses, who now towered awkwardly over the others. And the other boy, who Aziraphale thought was attempting to grow a moustache until he realised it was just a smudge of dirt on his upper lip.

They were each so intent on choosing the right kind of muffin that none of them noticed Aziraphale and Crowley until they were leaving. Then Adam paused, one hand on the door, and turned.

He gave them a broad, slightly embarrassed smile. The kind that children give to relatives whom they like, but don’t quite know how to interact with. Then he raised a hand in a greeting that was almost a salute.

Aziraphale and Crowley gave him the same smile, and the same salute, and that was that.


	74. Petit Fours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petit fours always look like they'd be difficult to make, but here's a nice easy recipe for lemon berry ones: https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/lemon-berry-petit-fours/

The Marie Antoinette Bakery was very new, and very fancypants, and Aziraphale was very insistent on visiting. Just out of curiosity, he claimed – not to buy anything. Crowley didn’t believe this for a second.

Aziraphale cooed happily over the petit fours with their chocolate glazes and pastel- coloured icing and sugary decorations.

“You know she never actually said _Let them eat cake_.”

“Marie Antoinette? I know. She said _let them eat brioche_.”

“No, she said let them eat their horses.”

Well, that got his attention.

“What on earth are you talking about? She didn’t say that.”

“Hey, I was there. I heard what she said.”

“You weren’t.”

“’Course I was.”

Spending so much time with an angel put Crowley at risk of losing certain demonic skills if he didn’t practise them regularly. First on the list was lying.


	75. Campfire Cakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Campfire cakes are the best. They were honestly one of the best things about Guide Camp. You'll need a thin batter (the kind you'd use for making thin pancakes) and if you prefer a chocolatey cake, use Nutella instead of jam. You can also make "campfire chips" by dipping the crusts in batter and cooking them.

Summer was in the air, and Anathema was celebrating with a campfire. That was hardly surprising - the woman lit a fire for every occasion. Fires for the summer solstice. Fires to light up the winter darkness. Maybe it was a witch thing, or maybe she was just a pyromaniac.

Newt showed Crowley and Aziraphale how to make campfire cakes – something he’d learnt in the Scouts, because of course Newt had been a Boy Scout. The cakes were actually little, crust-less jam sandwiches, dipped in batter and fried over the campfire, then sprinkled with sugar.

It was a gorgeous evening. Every star shone clearly in a velvety sky, and night-blooming flowers scented the air.

On the way back to London, Crowley asked Aziraphale, “D’you think you’d ever want to live in the countryside?”

“Leave London? I’m not sure. I might miss the restaurants, though I’d probably enjoy the peace and quiet. Still, it’s a moot point.”

“Why?”

“You’re in London. I’m there as long as you’re there.”


	76. Italian Pear Almond Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale likes pears. Crowley is well aware of this. Here's an ideal recipe for pear-lovers: https://www.seasonsandsuppers.ca/italian-pear-almond-cake/
> 
> Crowley has a big question to ask - wish him luck!

Okay, maybe Crowley was trying to butter him up a bit, by taking him to the posh new café that served Italian pear almond cake. He had an important question to ask Aziraphale, and he really wanted the answer to be yes. There was no guarantee of that.

The problem was, Aziraphale was annoyingly good at being alone. Give him his books and his cocoa and something nice to eat, and he’d be content on his own for ages. Crowley couldn’t say the same about himself. His mind wasn’t always a pleasant place to be, and he liked having someone around (preferably Aziraphale) to take him out of it.

Still, maybe it was a good thing that Aziraphale was happy living alone. It meant that, if he said yes, it was out of want, rather than need. Crowley did not need to be needed, but he very much wanted to be wanted.

“Angel, can we talk?”

Aziraphale looked mildly alarmed. “You look rather serious, dear boy. Do I need to stop eating?”

“No, no, eat your cake, it’s fine. It’s just that I wanted to ask you…”

Shit. He should say something very articulate about how much Aziraphale meant to him, and how he wanted to share his life with him, and how that might be easier if they lived together. Instead, he said,

“D’youmaybewannalivetogethersometime?”

Damn.

But no, it was okay. Because Aziraphale was smiling, and had actually stopped eating his cake voluntarily(!), and was saying he’d wanted to ask Crowley the same thing.

The world did that weird thing where it shrank down to just the two of them, as night fell outside the café and they talked about the future and its possibilities.


	77. Lamingtons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for lamingtons: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/lamingtons

It was the lamingtons that gave Crowley the idea. Chocolatey and coconutty and Australian as Vegemite.

“We can move anywhere, can’t we? So why not Australia? Barbecues, beaches, cute little koalas. And they have _loads_ of snakes there. I’ve not had many snake friends before…”

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that could have soured milk, and said “Crowley, if you think I’m going to live in forty degree heat and have cobras and pythons as house guests, you are sorely mistaken.”

Crowley grumbled and mumbled that there weren’t any cobras in Australia, but it was obvious that the matter was already closed.


	78. Plantain Cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale dealing with the tricky fact that terrible people can make excellent/delicious things!
> 
> Here's a recipe for plantain cake from a less ethically dubious source: https://www.preciouscore.com/plantain-cake/

“As soon as we have a proper house with a proper kitchen, I’m going to learn to bake,” Aziraphale declared. “I’ve got recipes I’ve been meaning to try since the fifteenth century.”

Crowley assumed he was exaggerating, but apparently not. He had a little wooden box full of recipes, some of which were on written on old, crumbling parchment. Crowley flicked through them eagerly, but carefully.

“Hang on, this one for plantain cake-”

“Yes, I really must have a go at that one.”

“It’s signed William Dampier.”

“Yes.”

“The pirate?”

“He was a naturalist. And a gourmet.”

“And a pirate. And I’m pretty sure he was a slaver, too.”

Aziraphale, looking a little miffed, snatched the recipe back and said “Well, he’s dead now so I’m still cooking this.”


	79. Galaxy Cake Bars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No recipe for Galaxy cake bars, so here's a recipe for Galaxy chocolate cupcakes instead: http://maverickbaking.com/galaxy-chocolate-cupcakes/

The cottage was going to need a great deal of decorating before it looked remotely cosy. At the moment, with all his books in cardboard boxes, the walls bare of pictures and all the furniture in a jumble, Aziraphale didn’t feel quite at home.

Still, Crowley was there. And they had teabags and milk (they had picked up some essentials at the nearest corner shop) and a pack of Galaxy cake bars as a reward for getting organised.

After a couple of hours, it was finally beginning to look like a home. Like _their_ home. That certainly justified a break and a snack.

While Aziraphale was making the tea, Crowley beckoned him out into the garden. Aziraphale stuffed a cake bar into his pocket and followed his demon outside with two mugs of tea.

He followed him down to the bottom of the overgrown garden, which was separated by a low fence from the fields beyond it. The light from the setting sun hit the dandelion clocks that grew throughout the fields, giving them a silvery glow.

Aziraphale suddenly got the sense that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.


	80. Victoria Sponge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a recipe for a classic Victoria sponge: https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/grannys-victoria-sponge
> 
> I hope yours turns out better than Aziraphale's!

“Give it a rest, angel. You’ll knock all the air out of it.”

“I don’t want it to burn,” said Aziraphale, opening the door of their shiny new oven for the maybe the seventh time and staring critically at the cake inside it.

Somehow, he managed to knock all the air out of it and burn it slightly too. It was flat as a pancake and firmly on the brown side of golden brown, but Aziraphale was as determined as ever to enter it in the cake competition in the village fair. Besides, he was very sweetly convinced that buttercream icing could hide any number of sins.

He was less convinced when they arrived at the village fete and saw the quality of the competition. About a dozen people – mostly women, mostly middle aged or north of middle aged – brought impressive cakes and laid them on the judging table. Some of them looked like works of art. Aziraphale flushed with embarrassment, and Crowley felt his own face heat up in response.

“I could … y’know…” Crowley offered, in a whisper.

“No, thank you but that’s really not necessary.”

“I just don’t want you to lose face in front of our new neighbours. I thought you wanted to be a part of the community.”

“I do. Which means we have to be honest with these people. No unnecessary miracles, and certainly not for personal gain.”

Crowley huffed. Aziraphale’s cake, predictably, didn’t even place. First prize went to a smug-looking woman with glossy hair and a glossy chocolate cake, decorated with peppermint creams and edible flowers.

Aziraphale was moping and Crowley was trying to comfort him by bitching about all the other cakes when an elderly woman, standing nearby, interrupted.

“Excuse me, but the cranberry ginger upside-down cake was not cooked in hell’s kitchen, it was cooked in _my_ kitchen.”

Crowley froze. Shit, here they were trying to integrate with the locals and Crowley was screwing it up.

“I … I’m so sorry, I was honestly just-”

“Trying to cheer up your other half?” The crow’s feet around the woman’s eyes deepened as she smiled mischievously at Crowley, then Aziraphale. “You were the Vicky sponge, weren’t you? Don’t worry dear, we’ve all been there.”

After that awkward start, things improved considerably. The woman, whose name was Doris, introduced Crowley and Aziraphale to her wife, as well as a younger couple called Katie and Phil. Katie and Phil seemed to know everyone, and by the end of the afternoon, Crowley and Aziraphale had been invited to a barbecue next weekend.

When they got home from the fete, the late afternoon sun was turning everything golden. Crowley and Aziraphale sat side by side on the bench at the bottom of the garden – which was still very overgrown – and drank black coffee and milky tea, respectively.

The sunshine was so irresistible that once Crowley had finished his coffee, he lay down in the long grass to soak it up more effectively. Aziraphale smiled down at him fondly, and Crowley pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head because he wanted to smile back with his eyes.

Crowley suddenly got the sense that he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this fic started in The Garden, I thought it should end in Crowley and Aziraphale's garden. :) 
> 
> I can't quite believe this fic is finished. Thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone who left kudos and comments, they are much appreciated. XOXO


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